A Little Princess

by

Frances Hodgson Burnett

A LITTLE PRINCESS

Summary: Sara Crewe, a pupil at Miss Minchin's London school, is leftin poverty when her father dies, but is later rescued by a mysteriousbenefactor. 

CONTENTS

 1. Sara 2. A French Lesson 3. Ermengarde 4. Lottie 5. Becky 6. The Diamond Mines 7. The Diamond Mines Again 8. In the Attic 9. Melchisedec 10. The Indian Gentleman 11. Ram Dass 12. The Other Side of the Wall 13. One of the Populace 14. What Melchisedec Heard and Saw 15. The Magic 16. The Visitor 17. "It Is the Child" 18. "I Tried Not to Be" 19. Anne

A Little Princess

1

Sara

Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick andheavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shopwindows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-looking little girlsat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through thebig thoroughfares. 

She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passingpeople with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes. 

She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a lookon her small face. It would have been an old look for a child oftwelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however, that shewas always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herselfremember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-uppeople and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived along, long time. 

At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made fromBombay with her father, Captain Crewe. She was thinking of the bigship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the childrenplaying about on the hot deck, and of some young officers' wives whoused to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said. 

Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at onetime one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of theocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streetswhere the day was as dark as the night. She found this so puzzlingthat she moved closer to her father. 

"Papa, " she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was almost awhisper, "papa. "

"What is it, darling?" Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer andlooking down into her face. "What is Sara thinking of?"

"Is this the place?" Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to him. "Isit, papa?"

"Yes, little Sara, it is. We have reached it at last. " And though shewas only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad when he said it. 

It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for"the place, " as she always called it. Her mother had died when she wasborn, so she had never known or missed her. Her young, handsome, rich, petting father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world. They had always played together and been fond of each other. She onlyknew he was rich because she had heard people say so when they thoughtshe was not listening, and she had also heard them say that when shegrew up she would be rich, too. She did not know all that being richmeant. She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been usedto seeing many servants who made salaams to her and called her "MisseeSahib, " and gave her her own way in everything. She had had toys andpets and an ayah who worshipped her, and she had gradually learned thatpeople who were rich had these things. That, however, was all she knewabout it. 

During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thingwas "the place" she was to be taken to some day. The climate of Indiawas very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were sent awayfrom it--generally to England and to school. She had seen otherchildren go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk aboutthe letters they received from them. She had known that she would beobliged to go also, and though sometimes her father's stories of thevoyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled bythe thought that he could not stay with her. 

"Couldn't you go to that place with me, papa?" she had asked when shewas five years old. "Couldn't you go to school, too? I would help youwith your lessons. "

"But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara, " hehad always said. "You will go to a nice house where there will be alot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will send youplenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely ayear before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and takecare of papa. "

She had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her father; toride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he had dinnerparties; to talk to him and read his books--that would be what shewould like most in the world, and if one must go away to "the place" inEngland to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. She did not carevery much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books shecould console herself. She liked books more than anything else, andwas, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and tellingthem to herself. Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he hadliked them as much as she did. 

"Well, papa, " she said softly, "if we are here I suppose we must beresigned. "

He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. He was reallynot at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a secret. His quaint little Sara had been a great companion to him, and he felthe should be a lonely fellow when, on his return to India, he went intohis bungalow knowing he need not expect to see the small figure in itswhite frock come forward to meet him. So he held her very closely inhis arms as the cab rolled into the big, dull square in which stood thehouse which was their destination. 

It was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others in itsrow, but that on the front door there shone a brass plate on which wasengraved in black letters:

MISS MINCHIN, Select Seminary for Young Ladies. 

"Here we are, Sara, " said Captain Crewe, making his voice sound ascheerful as possible. Then he lifted her out of the cab and theymounted the steps and rang the bell. Sara often thought afterward thatthe house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin. It was respectableand well furnished, but everything in it was ugly; and the veryarmchairs seemed to have hard bones in them. In the hall everythingwas hard and polished--even the red cheeks of the moon face on the tallclock in the corner had a severe varnished look. The drawing room intowhich they were ushered was covered by a carpet with a square patternupon it, the chairs were square, and a heavy marble timepiece stoodupon the heavy marble mantel. 

As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Sara cast one ofher quick looks about her. 

"I don't like it, papa, " she said. "But then I dare say soldiers--evenbrave ones--don't really LIKE going into battle. "

Captain Crewe laughed outright at this. He was young and full of fun, and he never tired of hearing Sara's queer speeches. 

"Oh, little Sara, " he said. "What shall I do when I have no one to saysolemn things to me? No one else is as solemn as you are. "

"But why do solemn things make you laugh so?" inquired Sara. 

"Because you are such fun when you say them, " he answered, laughingstill more. And then suddenly he swept her into his arms and kissedher very hard, stopping laughing all at once and looking almost as iftears had come into his eyes. 

It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room. She was very likeher house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and ugly. She hadlarge, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy smile. It spreaditself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe. She had heard a great many desirable things of the young soldier fromthe lady who had recommended her school to him. Among other things, shehad heard that he was a rich father who was willing to spend a greatdeal of money on his little daughter. 

"It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful andpromising child, Captain Crewe, " she said, taking Sara's hand andstroking it. "Lady Meredith has told me of her unusual cleverness. Aclever child is a great treasure in an establishment like mine. "

Sara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchin's face. Shewas thinking something odd, as usual. 

"Why does she say I am a beautiful child?" she was thinking. "I am notbeautiful at all. Colonel Grange's little girl, Isobel, is beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long hair the color ofgold. I have short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am athin child and not fair in the least. I am one of the ugliest childrenI ever saw. She is beginning by telling a story. "

She was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly child. She wasnot in the least like Isobel Grange, who had been the beauty of theregiment, but she had an odd charm of her own. She was a slim, supplecreature, rather tall for her age, and had an intense, attractivelittle face. Her hair was heavy and quite black and only curled at thetips; her eyes were greenish gray, it is true, but they were big, wonderful eyes with long, black lashes, and though she herself did notlike the color of them, many other people did. Still she was very firmin her belief that she was an ugly little girl, and she was not at allelated by Miss Minchin's flattery. 

"I should be telling a story if I said she was beautiful, " she thought;"and I should know I was telling a story. I believe I am as ugly asshe is--in my way. What did she say that for?"

After she had known Miss Minchin longer she learned why she had saidit. She discovered that she said the same thing to each papa and mammawho brought a child to her school. 

Sara stood near her father and listened while he and Miss Minchintalked. She had been brought to the seminary because Lady Meredith'stwo little girls had been educated there, and Captain Crewe had a greatrespect for Lady Meredith's experience. Sara was to be what was knownas "a parlor boarder, " and she was to enjoy even greater privilegesthan parlor boarders usually did. She was to have a pretty bedroom andsitting room of her own; she was to have a pony and a carriage, and amaid to take the place of the ayah who had been her nurse in India. 

"I am not in the least anxious about her education, " Captain Crewesaid, with his gay laugh, as he held Sara's hand and patted it. "Thedifficulty will be to keep her from learning too fast and too much. She is always sitting with her little nose burrowing into books. Shedoesn't read them, Miss Minchin; she gobbles them up as if she were alittle wolf instead of a little girl. She is always starving for newbooks to gobble, and she wants grown-up books--great, big, fatones--French and German as well as English--history and biography andpoets, and all sorts of things. Drag her away from her books when shereads too much. Make her ride her pony in the Row or go out and buy anew doll. She ought to play more with dolls. "

"Papa, " said Sara, "you see, if I went out and bought a new doll everyfew days I should have more than I could be fond of. Dolls ought to beintimate friends. Emily is going to be my intimate friend. "

Captain Crewe looked at Miss Minchin and Miss Minchin looked at CaptainCrewe. 

"Who is Emily?" she inquired. 

"Tell her, Sara, " Captain Crewe said, smiling. 

Sara's green-gray eyes looked very solemn and quite soft as sheanswered. 

"She is a doll I haven't got yet, " she said. "She is a doll papa isgoing to buy for me. We are going out together to find her. I havecalled her Emily. She is going to be my friend when papa is gone. Iwant her to talk to about him. "

Miss Minchin's large, fishy smile became very flattering indeed. 

"What an original child!" she said. "What a darling little creature!"

"Yes, " said Captain Crewe, drawing Sara close. "She is a darlinglittle creature. Take great care of her for me, Miss Minchin. "

Sara stayed with her father at his hotel for several days; in fact, sheremained with him until he sailed away again to India. They went outand visited many big shops together, and bought a great many things. They bought, indeed, a great many more things than Sara needed; butCaptain Crewe was a rash, innocent young man and wanted his little girlto have everything she admired and everything he admired himself, sobetween them they collected a wardrobe much too grand for a child ofseven. There were velvet dresses trimmed with costly furs, and lacedresses, and embroidered ones, and hats with great, soft ostrichfeathers, and ermine coats and muffs, and boxes of tiny gloves andhandkerchiefs and silk stockings in such abundant supplies that thepolite young women behind the counters whispered to each other that theodd little girl with the big, solemn eyes must be at least some foreignprincess--perhaps the little daughter of an Indian rajah. 

And at last they found Emily, but they went to a number of toy shopsand looked at a great many dolls before they discovered her. 

"I want her to look as if she wasn't a doll really, " Sara said. "Iwant her to look as if she LISTENS when I talk to her. The trouble withdolls, papa"--and she put her head on one side and reflected as shesaid it--"the trouble with dolls is that they never seem to HEAR. " Sothey looked at big ones and little ones--at dolls with black eyes anddolls with blue--at dolls with brown curls and dolls with goldenbraids, dolls dressed and dolls undressed. 

"You see, " Sara said when they were examining one who had no clothes. "If, when I find her, she has no frocks, we can take her to adressmaker and have her things made to fit. They will fit better ifthey are tried on. "

After a number of disappointments they decided to walk and look in atthe shop windows and let the cab follow them. They had passed two orthree places without even going in, when, as they were approaching ashop which was really not a very large one, Sara suddenly started andclutched her father's arm. 

"Oh, papa!" she cried. "There is Emily!"

A flush had risen to her face and there was an expression in hergreen-gray eyes as if she had just recognized someone she was intimatewith and fond of. 

"She is actually waiting there for us!" she said. "Let us go in toher. "

"Dear me, " said Captain Crewe, "I feel as if we ought to have someoneto introduce us. "

"You must introduce me and I will introduce you, " said Sara. "But Iknew her the minute I saw her--so perhaps she knew me, too. "

Perhaps she had known her. She had certainly a very intelligentexpression in her eyes when Sara took her in her arms. She was a largedoll, but not too large to carry about easily; she had naturallycurling golden-brown hair, which hung like a mantle about her, and hereyes were a deep, clear, gray-blue, with soft, thick eyelashes whichwere real eyelashes and not mere painted lines. 

"Of course, " said Sara, looking into her face as she held her on herknee, "of course papa, this is Emily. "

So Emily was bought and actually taken to a children's outfitter's shopand measured for a wardrobe as grand as Sara's own. She had lacefrocks, too, and velvet and muslin ones, and hats and coats andbeautiful lace-trimmed underclothes, and gloves and handkerchiefs andfurs. 

"I should like her always to look as if she was a child with a goodmother, " said Sara. "I'm her mother, though I am going to make acompanion of her. "

Captain Crewe would really have enjoyed the shopping tremendously, butthat a sad thought kept tugging at his heart. This all meant that hewas going to be separated from his beloved, quaint little comrade. 

He got out of his bed in the middle of that night and went and stoodlooking down at Sara, who lay asleep with Emily in her arms. Her blackhair was spread out on the pillow and Emily's golden-brown hair mingledwith it, both of them had lace-ruffled nightgowns, and both had longeyelashes which lay and curled up on their cheeks. Emily looked so likea real child that Captain Crewe felt glad she was there. He drew a bigsigh and pulled his mustache with a boyish expression. 

"Heigh-ho, little Sara!" he said to himself "I don't believe you knowhow much your daddy will miss you. "

The next day he took her to Miss Minchin's and left her there. He wasto sail away the next morning. He explained to Miss Minchin that hissolicitors, Messrs. Barrow & Skipworth, had charge of his affairs inEngland and would give her any advice she wanted, and that they wouldpay the bills she sent in for Sara's expenses. He would write to Saratwice a week, and she was to be given every pleasure she asked for. 

"She is a sensible little thing, and she never wants anything it isn'tsafe to give her, " he said. 

Then he went with Sara into her little sitting room and they bade eachother good-by. Sara sat on his knee and held the lapels of his coat inher small hands, and looked long and hard at his face. 

"Are you learning me by heart, little Sara?" he said, stroking her hair. 

"No, " she answered. "I know you by heart. You are inside my heart. "And they put their arms round each other and kissed as if they wouldnever let each other go. 

When the cab drove away from the door, Sara was sitting on the floor ofher sitting room, with her hands under her chin and her eyes followingit until it had turned the corner of the square. Emily was sitting byher, and she looked after it, too. When Miss Minchin sent her sister, Miss Amelia, to see what the child was doing, she found she could notopen the door. 

"I have locked it, " said a queer, polite little voice from inside. "Iwant to be quite by myself, if you please. "

Miss Amelia was fat and dumpy, and stood very much in awe of hersister. She was really the better-natured person of the two, but shenever disobeyed Miss Minchin. She went downstairs again, lookingalmost alarmed. 

"I never saw such a funny, old-fashioned child, sister, " she said. "Shehas locked herself in, and she is not making the least particle ofnoise. "

"It is much better than if she kicked and screamed, as some of themdo, " Miss Minchin answered. "I expected that a child as much spoiledas she is would set the whole house in an uproar. If ever a child wasgiven her own way in everything, she is. "

"I've been opening her trunks and putting her things away, " said MissAmelia. "I never saw anything like them--sable and ermine on hercoats, and real Valenciennes lace on her underclothing. You have seensome of her clothes. What DO you think of them?"

"I think they are perfectly ridiculous, " replied Miss Minchin, sharply;"but they will look very well at the head of the line when we take theschoolchildren to church on Sunday. She has been provided for as if shewere a little princess. "

And upstairs in the locked room Sara and Emily sat on the floor andstared at the corner round which the cab had disappeared, while CaptainCrewe looked backward, waving and kissing his hand as if he could notbear to stop. 

2

A French Lesson

When Sara entered the schoolroom the next morning everybody looked ather with wide, interested eyes. By that time every pupil--from LaviniaHerbert, who was nearly thirteen and felt quite grown up, to LottieLegh, who was only just four and the baby of the school--had heard agreat deal about her. They knew very certainly that she was MissMinchin's show pupil and was considered a credit to the establishment. One or two of them had even caught a glimpse of her French maid, Mariette, who had arrived the evening before. Lavinia had managed topass Sara's room when the door was open, and had seen Mariette openinga box which had arrived late from some shop. 

"It was full of petticoats with lace frills on them--frills andfrills, " she whispered to her friend Jessie as she bent over hergeography. "I saw her shaking them out. I heard Miss Minchin say toMiss Amelia that her clothes were so grand that they were ridiculousfor a child. My mamma says that children should be dressed simply. Shehas got one of those petticoats on now. I saw it when she sat down. "

"She has silk stockings on!" whispered Jessie, bending over hergeography also. "And what little feet! I never saw such little feet. "

"Oh, " sniffed Lavinia, spitefully, "that is the way her slippers aremade. My mamma says that even big feet can be made to look small ifyou have a clever shoemaker. I don't think she is pretty at all. Hereyes are such a queer color. "

"She isn't pretty as other pretty people are, " said Jessie, stealing aglance across the room; "but she makes you want to look at her again. She has tremendously long eyelashes, but her eyes are almost green. "

Sara was sitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told what to do. She had been placed near Miss Minchin's desk. She was not abashed atall by the many pairs of eyes watching her. She was interested andlooked back quietly at the children who looked at her. She wonderedwhat they were thinking of, and if they liked Miss Minchin, and if theycared for their lessons, and if any of them had a papa at all like herown. She had had a long talk with Emily about her papa that morning. 

"He is on the sea now, Emily, " she had said. "We must be very greatfriends to each other and tell each other things. Emily, look at me. You have the nicest eyes I ever saw--but I wish you could speak. "

She was a child full of imaginings and whimsical thoughts, and one ofher fancies was that there would be a great deal of comfort in evenpretending that Emily was alive and really heard and understood. AfterMariette had dressed her in her dark-blue schoolroom frock and tied herhair with a dark-blue ribbon, she went to Emily, who sat in a chair ofher own, and gave her a book. 

"You can read that while I am downstairs, " she said; and, seeingMariette looking at her curiously, she spoke to her with a seriouslittle face. 

"What I believe about dolls, " she said, "is that they can do thingsthey will not let us know about. Perhaps, really, Emily can read andtalk and walk, but she will only do it when people are out of the room. That is her secret. You see, if people knew that dolls could dothings, they would make them work. So, perhaps, they have promisedeach other to keep it a secret. If you stay in the room, Emily willjust sit there and stare; but if you go out, she will begin to read, perhaps, or go and look out of the window. Then if she heard either ofus coming, she would just run back and jump into her chair and pretendshe had been there all the time. "

"Comme elle est drole!" Mariette said to herself, and when she wentdownstairs she told the head housemaid about it. But she had alreadybegun to like this odd little girl who had such an intelligent smallface and such perfect manners. She had taken care of children beforewho were not so polite. Sara was a very fine little person, and had agentle, appreciative way of saying, "If you please, Mariette, " "Thankyou, Mariette, " which was very charming. Mariette told the headhousemaid that she thanked her as if she was thanking a lady. 

"Elle a l'air d'une princesse, cette petite, " she said. Indeed, she wasvery much pleased with her new little mistress and liked her placegreatly. 

After Sara had sat in her seat in the schoolroom for a few minutes, being looked at by the pupils, Miss Minchin rapped in a dignifiedmanner upon her desk. 

"Young ladies, " she said, "I wish to introduce you to your newcompanion. " All the little girls rose in their places, and Sara rosealso. "I shall expect you all to be very agreeable to Miss Crewe; shehas just come to us from a great distance--in fact, from India. As soonas lessons are over you must make each other's acquaintance. "

The pupils bowed ceremoniously, and Sara made a little curtsy, and thenthey sat down and looked at each other again. 

"Sara, " said Miss Minchin in her schoolroom manner, "come here to me. "

She had taken a book from the desk and was turning over its leaves. Sara went to her politely. 

"As your papa has engaged a French maid for you, " she began, "Iconclude that he wishes you to make a special study of the Frenchlanguage. "

Sara felt a little awkward. 

"I think he engaged her, " she said, "because he--he thought I wouldlike her, Miss Minchin. "

"I am afraid, " said Miss Minchin, with a slightly sour smile, "that youhave been a very spoiled little girl and always imagine that things aredone because you like them. My impression is that your papa wished youto learn French. "

If Sara had been older or less punctilious about being quite polite topeople, she could have explained herself in a very few words. But, asit was, she felt a flush rising on her cheeks. Miss Minchin was a verysevere and imposing person, and she seemed so absolutely sure that Saraknew nothing whatever of French that she felt as if it would be almostrude to correct her. The truth was that Sara could not remember thetime when she had not seemed to know French. Her father had oftenspoken it to her when she had been a baby. Her mother had been a Frenchwoman, and Captain Crewe had loved her language, so it happened thatSara had always heard and been familiar with it. 

"I--I have never really learned French, but--but--" she began, tryingshyly to make herself clear. 

One of Miss Minchin's chief secret annoyances was that she did notspeak French herself, and was desirous of concealing the irritatingfact. She, therefore, had no intention of discussing the matter andlaying herself open to innocent questioning by a new little pupil. 

"That is enough, " she said with polite tartness. "If you have notlearned, you must begin at once. The French master, Monsieur Dufarge, will be here in a few minutes. Take this book and look at it until hearrives. "

Sara's cheeks felt warm. She went back to her seat and opened thebook. She looked at the first page with a grave face. She knew itwould be rude to smile, and she was very determined not to be rude. Butit was very odd to find herself expected to study a page which told herthat "le pere" meant "the father, " and "la mere" meant "the mother. "

Miss Minchin glanced toward her scrutinizingly. 

"You look rather cross, Sara, " she said. "I am sorry you do not likethe idea of learning French. "

"I am very fond of it, " answered Sara, thinking she would try again;"but--"

"You must not say 'but' when you are told to do things, " said MissMinchin. "Look at your book again. "

And Sara did so, and did not smile, even when she found that "le fils"meant "the son, " and "le frere" meant "the brother. "

"When Monsieur Dufarge comes, " she thought, "I can make him understand. "

Monsieur Dufarge arrived very shortly afterward. He was a very nice, intelligent, middle-aged Frenchman, and he looked interested when hiseyes fell upon Sara trying politely to seem absorbed in her little bookof phrases. 

"Is this a new pupil for me, madame?" he said to Miss Minchin. "I hopethat is my good fortune. "

"Her papa--Captain Crewe--is very anxious that she should begin thelanguage. But I am afraid she has a childish prejudice against it. Shedoes not seem to wish to learn, " said Miss Minchin. 

"I am sorry of that, mademoiselle, " he said kindly to Sara. "Perhaps, when we begin to study together, I may show you that it is a charmingtongue. "

Little Sara rose in her seat. She was beginning to feel ratherdesperate, as if she were almost in disgrace. She looked up intoMonsieur Dufarge's face with her big, green-gray eyes, and they werequite innocently appealing. She knew that he would understand as soonas she spoke. She began to explain quite simply in pretty and fluentFrench. Madame had not understood. She had not learned Frenchexactly--not out of books--but her papa and other people had alwaysspoken it to her, and she had read it and written it as she had readand written English. Her papa loved it, and she loved it because hedid. Her dear mamma, who had died when she was born, had been French. She would be glad to learn anything monsieur would teach her, but whatshe had tried to explain to madame was that she already knew the wordsin this book--and she held out the little book of phrases. 

When she began to speak Miss Minchin started quite violently and satstaring at her over her eyeglasses, almost indignantly, until she hadfinished. Monsieur Dufarge began to smile, and his smile was one ofgreat pleasure. To hear this pretty childish voice speaking his ownlanguage so simply and charmingly made him feel almost as if he were inhis native land--which in dark, foggy days in London sometimes seemedworlds away. When she had finished, he took the phrase book from her, with a look almost affectionate. But he spoke to Miss Minchin. 

"Ah, madame, " he said, "there is not much I can teach her. She has notLEARNED French; she is French. Her accent is exquisite. "

"You ought to have told me, " exclaimed Miss Minchin, much mortified, turning to Sara. 

"I--I tried, " said Sara. "I--I suppose I did not begin right. "

Miss Minchin knew she had tried, and that it had not been her faultthat she was not allowed to explain. And when she saw that the pupilshad been listening and that Lavinia and Jessie were giggling behindtheir French grammars, she felt infuriated. 

"Silence, young ladies!" she said severely, rapping upon the desk. "Silence at once!"

And she began from that minute to feel rather a grudge against her showpupil. 

3

Ermengarde

On that first morning, when Sara sat at Miss Minchin's side, aware thatthe whole schoolroom was devoting itself to observing her, she hadnoticed very soon one little girl, about her own age, who looked at hervery hard with a pair of light, rather dull, blue eyes. She was a fatchild who did not look as if she were in the least clever, but she hada good-naturedly pouting mouth. Her flaxen hair was braided in a tightpigtail, tied with a ribbon, and she had pulled this pigtail around herneck, and was biting the end of the ribbon, resting her elbows on thedesk, as she stared wonderingly at the new pupil. When MonsieurDufarge began to speak to Sara, she looked a little frightened; andwhen Sara stepped forward and, looking at him with the innocent, appealing eyes, answered him, without any warning, in French, the fatlittle girl gave a startled jump, and grew quite red in her awedamazement. Having wept hopeless tears for weeks in her efforts toremember that "la mere" meant "the mother, " and "le pere, " "thefather, "--when one spoke sensible English--it was almost too much forher suddenly to find herself listening to a child her own age whoseemed not only quite familiar with these words, but apparently knewany number of others, and could mix them up with verbs as if they weremere trifles. 

She stared so hard and bit the ribbon on her pigtail so fast that sheattracted the attention of Miss Minchin, who, feeling extremely crossat the moment, immediately pounced upon her. 

"Miss St. John!" she exclaimed severely. "What do you mean by suchconduct? Remove your elbows! Take your ribbon out of your mouth! Situp at once!"

Upon which Miss St. John gave another jump, and when Lavinia and Jessietittered she became redder than ever--so red, indeed, that she almostlooked as if tears were coming into her poor, dull, childish eyes; andSara saw her and was so sorry for her that she began rather to like herand want to be her friend. It was a way of hers always to want tospring into any fray in which someone was made uncomfortable or unhappy. 

"If Sara had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago, " her father usedto say, "she would have gone about the country with her sword drawn, rescuing and defending everyone in distress. She always wants to fightwhen she sees people in trouble. "

So she took rather a fancy to fat, slow, little Miss St. John, and keptglancing toward her through the morning. She saw that lessons were noeasy matter to her, and that there was no danger of her ever beingspoiled by being treated as a show pupil. Her French lesson was apathetic thing. Her pronunciation made even Monsieur Dufarge smile inspite of himself, and Lavinia and Jessie and the more fortunate girlseither giggled or looked at her in wondering disdain. But Sara did notlaugh. She tried to look as if she did not hear when Miss St. Johncalled "le bon pain, " "lee bong pang. " She had a fine, hot littletemper of her own, and it made her feel rather savage when she heardthe titters and saw the poor, stupid, distressed child's face. 

"It isn't funny, really, " she said between her teeth, as she bent overher book. "They ought not to laugh. "

When lessons were over and the pupils gathered together in groups totalk, Sara looked for Miss St. John, and finding her bundled ratherdisconsolately in a window-seat, she walked over to her and spoke. Sheonly said the kind of thing little girls always say to each other byway of beginning an acquaintance, but there was something friendlyabout Sara, and people always felt it. 

"What is your name?" she said. 

To explain Miss St. John's amazement one must recall that a new pupilis, for a short time, a somewhat uncertain thing; and of this new pupilthe entire school had talked the night before until it fell asleepquite exhausted by excitement and contradictory stories. A new pupilwith a carriage and a pony and a maid, and a voyage from India todiscuss, was not an ordinary acquaintance. 

"My name's Ermengarde St. John, " she answered. 

"Mine is Sara Crewe, " said Sara. "Yours is very pretty. It soundslike a story book. "

"Do you like it?" fluttered Ermengarde. "I--I like yours. "

Miss St. John's chief trouble in life was that she had a clever father. Sometimes this seemed to her a dreadful calamity. If you have a fatherwho knows everything, who speaks seven or eight languages, and hasthousands of volumes which he has apparently learned by heart, hefrequently expects you to be familiar with the contents of your lessonbooks at least; and it is not improbable that he will feel you ought tobe able to remember a few incidents of history and to write a Frenchexercise. Ermengarde was a severe trial to Mr. St. John. He could notunderstand how a child of his could be a notably and unmistakably dullcreature who never shone in anything. 

"Good heavens!" he had said more than once, as he stared at her, "thereare times when I think she is as stupid as her Aunt Eliza!"

If her Aunt Eliza had been slow to learn and quick to forget a thingentirely when she had learned it, Ermengarde was strikingly like her. She was the monumental dunce of the school, and it could not be denied. 

"She must be MADE to learn, " her father said to Miss Minchin. 

Consequently Ermengarde spent the greater part of her life in disgraceor in tears. She learned things and forgot them; or, if she rememberedthem, she did not understand them. So it was natural that, having madeSara's acquaintance, she should sit and stare at her with profoundadmiration. 

"You can speak French, can't you?" she said respectfully. 

Sara got on to the window-seat, which was a big, deep one, and, tuckingup her feet, sat with her hands clasped round her knees. 

"I can speak it because I have heard it all my life, " she answered. "You could speak it if you had always heard it. "

"Oh, no, I couldn't, " said Ermengarde. "I NEVER could speak it!"

"Why?" inquired Sara, curiously. 

Ermengarde shook her head so that the pigtail wobbled. 

"You heard me just now, " she said. "I'm always like that. I can't SAYthe words. They're so queer. "

She paused a moment, and then added with a touch of awe in her voice, "You are CLEVER, aren't you?"

Sara looked out of the window into the dingy square, where the sparrowswere hopping and twittering on the wet, iron railings and the sootybranches of the trees. She reflected a few moments. She had heard itsaid very often that she was "clever, " and she wondered if she was--andIF she was, how it had happened. 

"I don't know, " she said. "I can't tell. " Then, seeing a mournfullook on the round, chubby face, she gave a little laugh and changed thesubject. 

"Would you like to see Emily?" she inquired. 

"Who is Emily?" Ermengarde asked, just as Miss Minchin had done. 

"Come up to my room and see, " said Sara, holding out her hand. 

They jumped down from the window-seat together, and went upstairs. 

"Is it true, " Ermengarde whispered, as they went through the hall--"isit true that you have a playroom all to yourself?"

"Yes, " Sara answered. "Papa asked Miss Minchin to let me have one, because--well, it was because when I play I make up stories and tellthem to myself, and I don't like people to hear me. It spoils it if Ithink people listen. "

They had reached the passage leading to Sara's room by this time, andErmengarde stopped short, staring, and quite losing her breath. 

"You MAKE up stories!" she gasped. "Can you do that--as well as speakFrench? CAN you?"

Sara looked at her in simple surprise. 

"Why, anyone can make up things, " she said. "Have you never tried?"

She put her hand warningly on Ermengarde's. 

"Let us go very quietly to the door, " she whispered, "and then I willopen it quite suddenly; perhaps we may catch her. "

She was half laughing, but there was a touch of mysterious hope in hereyes which fascinated Ermengarde, though she had not the remotest ideawhat it meant, or whom it was she wanted to "catch, " or why she wantedto catch her. Whatsoever she meant, Ermengarde was sure it wassomething delightfully exciting. So, quite thrilled with expectation, she followed her on tiptoe along the passage. They made not the leastnoise until they reached the door. Then Sara suddenly turned thehandle, and threw it wide open. Its opening revealed the room quiteneat and quiet, a fire gently burning in the grate, and a wonderfuldoll sitting in a chair by it, apparently reading a book. 

"Oh, she got back to her seat before we could see her!" Saraexplained. "Of course they always do. They are as quick as lightning. "

Ermengarde looked from her to the doll and back again. 

"Can she--walk?" she asked breathlessly. 

"Yes, " answered Sara. "At least I believe she can. At least I PRETENDI believe she can. And that makes it seem as if it were true. Have younever pretended things?"

"No, " said Ermengarde. "Never. I--tell me about it. "

She was so bewitched by this odd, new companion that she actuallystared at Sara instead of at Emily--notwithstanding that Emily was themost attractive doll person she had ever seen. 

"Let us sit down, " said Sara, "and I will tell you. It's so easy thatwhen you begin you can't stop. You just go on and on doing it always. And it's beautiful. Emily, you must listen. This is Ermengarde St. John, Emily. Ermengarde, this is Emily. Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh, may I?" said Ermengarde. "May I, really? She is beautiful!" AndEmily was put into her arms. 

Never in her dull, short life had Miss St. John dreamed of such an houras the one she spent with the queer new pupil before they heard thelunch-bell ring and were obliged to go downstairs. 

Sara sat upon the hearth-rug and told her strange things. She satrather huddled up, and her green eyes shone and her cheeks flushed. Shetold stories of the voyage, and stories of India; but what fascinatedErmengarde the most was her fancy about the dolls who walked andtalked, and who could do anything they chose when the human beings wereout of the room, but who must keep their powers a secret and so flewback to their places "like lightning" when people returned to the room. 

"WE couldn't do it, " said Sara, seriously. "You see, it's a kind ofmagic. "

Once, when she was relating the story of the search for Emily, Ermengarde saw her face suddenly change. A cloud seemed to pass overit and put out the light in her shining eyes. She drew her breath inso sharply that it made a funny, sad little sound, and then she shuther lips and held them tightly closed, as if she was determined eitherto do or NOT to do something. Ermengarde had an idea that if she hadbeen like any other little girl, she might have suddenly burst outsobbing and crying. But she did not. 

"Have you a--a pain?" Ermengarde ventured. 

"Yes, " Sara answered, after a moment's silence. "But it is not in mybody. " Then she added something in a low voice which she tried to keepquite steady, and it was this: "Do you love your father more thananything else in all the whole world?"

Ermengarde's mouth fell open a little. She knew that it would be farfrom behaving like a respectable child at a select seminary to say thatit had never occurred to you that you COULD love your father, that youwould do anything desperate to avoid being left alone in his societyfor ten minutes. She was, indeed, greatly embarrassed. 

"I--I scarcely ever see him, " she stammered. "He is always in thelibrary--reading things. "

"I love mine more than all the world ten times over, " Sara said. "Thatis what my pain is. He has gone away. "

She put her head quietly down on her little, huddled-up knees, and satvery still for a few minutes. 

"She's going to cry out loud, " thought Ermengarde, fearfully. 

But she did not. Her short, black locks tumbled about her ears, andshe sat still. Then she spoke without lifting her head. 

"I promised him I would bear it, " she said. "And I will. You have tobear things. Think what soldiers bear! Papa is a soldier. If therewas a war he would have to bear marching and thirstiness and, perhaps, deep wounds. And he would never say a word--not one word. "

Ermengarde could only gaze at her, but she felt that she was beginningto adore her. She was so wonderful and different from anyone else. 

Presently, she lifted her face and shook back her black locks, with aqueer little smile. 

"If I go on talking and talking, " she said, "and telling you thingsabout pretending, I shall bear it better. You don't forget, but youbear it better. "

Ermengarde did not know why a lump came into her throat and her eyesfelt as if tears were in them. 

"Lavinia and Jessie are 'best friends, '" she said rather huskily. "Iwish we could be 'best friends. ' Would you have me for yours? You'reclever, and I'm the stupidest child in the school, but I--oh, I do solike you!"

"I'm glad of that, " said Sara. "It makes you thankful when you areliked. Yes. We will be friends. And I'll tell you what"--a suddengleam lighting her face--"I can help you with your French lessons. "

4

Lottie

If Sara had been a different kind of child, the life she led at MissMinchin's Select Seminary for the next few years would not have been atall good for her. She was treated more as if she were a distinguishedguest at the establishment than as if she were a mere little girl. Ifshe had been a self-opinionated, domineering child, she might havebecome disagreeable enough to be unbearable through being so muchindulged and flattered. If she had been an indolent child, she wouldhave learned nothing. Privately Miss Minchin disliked her, but she wasfar too worldly a woman to do or say anything which might make such adesirable pupil wish to leave her school. She knew quite well that ifSara wrote to her papa to tell him she was uncomfortable or unhappy, Captain Crewe would remove her at once. Miss Minchin's opinion was thatif a child were continually praised and never forbidden to do what sheliked, she would be sure to be fond of the place where she was sotreated. Accordingly, Sara was praised for her quickness at herlessons, for her good manners, for her amiability to her fellow pupils, for her generosity if she gave sixpence to a beggar out of her fulllittle purse; the simplest thing she did was treated as if it were avirtue, and if she had not had a disposition and a clever little brain, she might have been a very self-satisfied young person. But the cleverlittle brain told her a great many sensible and true things aboutherself and her circumstances, and now and then she talked these thingsover to Ermengarde as time went on. 

"Things happen to people by accident, " she used to say. "A lot of niceaccidents have happened to me. It just HAPPENED that I always likedlessons and books, and could remember things when I learned them. Itjust happened that I was born with a father who was beautiful and niceand clever, and could give me everything I liked. Perhaps I have notreally a good temper at all, but if you have everything you want andeveryone is kind to you, how can you help but be good-tempered? Idon't know"--looking quite serious--"how I shall ever find out whetherI am really a nice child or a horrid one. Perhaps I'm a HIDEOUS child, and no one will ever know, just because I never have any trials. "

"Lavinia has no trials, " said Ermengarde, stolidly, "and she is horridenough. "

Sara rubbed the end of her little nose reflectively, as she thought thematter over. 

"Well, " she said at last, "perhaps--perhaps that is because Lavinia isGROWING. " This was the result of a charitable recollection of havingheard Miss Amelia say that Lavinia was growing so fast that shebelieved it affected her health and temper. 

Lavinia, in fact, was spiteful. She was inordinately jealous of Sara. Until the new pupil's arrival, she had felt herself the leader in theschool. She had led because she was capable of making herselfextremely disagreeable if the others did not follow her. She domineeredover the little children, and assumed grand airs with those big enoughto be her companions. She was rather pretty, and had been thebest-dressed pupil in the procession when the Select Seminary walkedout two by two, until Sara's velvet coats and sable muffs appeared, combined with drooping ostrich feathers, and were led by Miss Minchinat the head of the line. This, at the beginning, had been bitterenough; but as time went on it became apparent that Sara was a leader, too, and not because she could make herself disagreeable, but becauseshe never did. 

"There's one thing about Sara Crewe, " Jessie had enraged her "bestfriend" by saying honestly, "she's never 'grand' about herself theleast bit, and you know she might be, Lavvie. I believe I couldn'thelp being--just a little--if I had so many fine things and was madesuch a fuss over. It's disgusting, the way Miss Minchin shows her offwhen parents come. "

"'Dear Sara must come into the drawing room and talk to Mrs. Musgraveabout India, '" mimicked Lavinia, in her most highly flavored imitationof Miss Minchin. "'Dear Sara must speak French to Lady Pitkin. Heraccent is so perfect. ' She didn't learn her French at the Seminary, atany rate. And there's nothing so clever in her knowing it. She saysherself she didn't learn it at all. She just picked it up, because shealways heard her papa speak it. And, as to her papa, there is nothingso grand in being an Indian officer. "

"Well, " said Jessie, slowly, "he's killed tigers. He killed the one inthe skin Sara has in her room. That's why she likes it so. She lies onit and strokes its head, and talks to it as if it was a cat. "

"She's always doing something silly, " snapped Lavinia. "My mamma saysthat way of hers of pretending things is silly. She says she will growup eccentric. "

It was quite true that Sara was never "grand. " She was a friendlylittle soul, and shared her privileges and belongings with a free hand. The little ones, who were accustomed to being disdained and ordered outof the way by mature ladies aged ten and twelve, were never made to cryby this most envied of them all. She was a motherly young person, andwhen people fell down and scraped their knees, she ran and helped themup and patted them, or found in her pocket a bonbon or some otherarticle of a soothing nature. She never pushed them out of her way oralluded to their years as a humiliation and a blot upon their smallcharacters. 

"If you are four you are four, " she said severely to Lavinia on anoccasion of her having--it must be confessed--slapped Lottie and calledher "a brat;" "but you will be five next year, and six the year afterthat. And, " opening large, convicting eyes, "it takes sixteen years tomake you twenty. "

"Dear me, " said Lavinia, "how we can calculate!" In fact, it was notto be denied that sixteen and four made twenty--and twenty was an agethe most daring were scarcely bold enough to dream of. 

So the younger children adored Sara. More than once she had been knownto have a tea party, made up of these despised ones, in her own room. And Emily had been played with, and Emily's own tea service used--theone with cups which held quite a lot of much-sweetened weak tea and hadblue flowers on them. No one had seen such a very real doll's tea setbefore. From that afternoon Sara was regarded as a goddess and a queenby the entire alphabet class. 

Lottie Legh worshipped her to such an extent that if Sara had not beena motherly person, she would have found her tiresome. Lottie had beensent to school by a rather flighty young papa who could not imaginewhat else to do with her. Her young mother had died, and as the childhad been treated like a favorite doll or a very spoiled pet monkey orlap dog ever since the first hour of her life, she was a very appallinglittle creature. When she wanted anything or did not want anything shewept and howled; and, as she always wanted the things she could nothave, and did not want the things that were best for her, her shrilllittle voice was usually to be heard uplifted in wails in one part ofthe house or another. 

Her strongest weapon was that in some mysterious way she had found outthat a very small girl who had lost her mother was a person who oughtto be pitied and made much of. She had probably heard some grown-uppeople talking her over in the early days, after her mother's death. Soit became her habit to make great use of this knowledge. 

The first time Sara took her in charge was one morning when, on passinga sitting room, she heard both Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia trying tosuppress the angry wails of some child who, evidently, refused to besilenced. She refused so strenuously indeed that Miss Minchin wasobliged to almost shout--in a stately and severe manner--to makeherself heard. 

"What IS she crying for?" she almost yelled. 

"Oh--oh--oh!" Sara heard; "I haven't got any mam--ma-a!"

"Oh, Lottie!" screamed Miss Amelia. "Do stop, darling! Don't cry!Please don't!"

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" Lottie howled tempestuously. "Haven't--got--any--mam--ma-a!"

"She ought to be whipped, " Miss Minchin proclaimed. "You SHALL bewhipped, you naughty child!"

Lottie wailed more loudly than ever. Miss Amelia began to cry. MissMinchin's voice rose until it almost thundered, then suddenly shesprang up from her chair in impotent indignation and flounced out ofthe room, leaving Miss Amelia to arrange the matter. 

Sara had paused in the hall, wondering if she ought to go into theroom, because she had recently begun a friendly acquaintance withLottie and might be able to quiet her. When Miss Minchin came out andsaw her, she looked rather annoyed. She realized that her voice, asheard from inside the room, could not have sounded either dignified oramiable. 

"Oh, Sara!" she exclaimed, endeavoring to produce a suitable smile. 

"I stopped, " explained Sara, "because I knew it was Lottie--and Ithought, perhaps--just perhaps, I could make her be quiet. May I try, Miss Minchin?"

"If you can, you are a clever child, " answered Miss Minchin, drawing inher mouth sharply. Then, seeing that Sara looked slightly chilled byher asperity, she changed her manner. "But you are clever ineverything, " she said in her approving way. "I dare say you can manageher. Go in. " And she left her. 

When Sara entered the room, Lottie was lying upon the floor, screamingand kicking her small fat legs violently, and Miss Amelia was bendingover her in consternation and despair, looking quite red and damp withheat. Lottie had always found, when in her own nursery at home, thatkicking and screaming would always be quieted by any means she insistedon. Poor plump Miss Amelia was trying first one method, and thenanother. 

"Poor darling, " she said one moment, "I know you haven't any mamma, poor--" Then in quite another tone, "If you don't stop, Lottie, I willshake you. Poor little angel! There--! You wicked, bad, detestablechild, I will smack you! I will!"

Sara went to them quietly. She did not know at all what she was goingto do, but she had a vague inward conviction that it would be betternot to say such different kinds of things quite so helplessly andexcitedly. 

"Miss Amelia, " she said in a low voice, "Miss Minchin says I may try tomake her stop--may I?"

Miss Amelia turned and looked at her hopelessly. "Oh, DO you think youcan?" she gasped. 

"I don't know whether I CAN", answered Sara, still in her half-whisper;"but I will try. "

Miss Amelia stumbled up from her knees with a heavy sigh, and Lottie'sfat little legs kicked as hard as ever. 

"If you will steal out of the room, " said Sara, "I will stay with her. "

"Oh, Sara!" almost whimpered Miss Amelia. "We never had such adreadful child before. I don't believe we can keep her. "

But she crept out of the room, and was very much relieved to find anexcuse for doing it. 

Sara stood by the howling furious child for a few moments, and lookeddown at her without saying anything. Then she sat down flat on thefloor beside her and waited. Except for Lottie's angry screams, theroom was quite quiet. This was a new state of affairs for little MissLegh, who was accustomed, when she screamed, to hear other peopleprotest and implore and command and coax by turns. To lie and kick andshriek, and find the only person near you not seeming to mind in theleast, attracted her attention. She opened her tight-shut streamingeyes to see who this person was. And it was only another little girl. But it was the one who owned Emily and all the nice things. And shewas looking at her steadily and as if she was merely thinking. Havingpaused for a few seconds to find this out, Lottie thought she mustbegin again, but the quiet of the room and of Sara's odd, interestedface made her first howl rather half-hearted. 

"I--haven't--any--ma--ma--ma-a!" she announced; but her voice was notso strong. 

Sara looked at her still more steadily, but with a sort ofunderstanding in her eyes. 

"Neither have I, " she said. 

This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Lottie actually droppedher legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and stared. A new idea will stop acrying child when nothing else will. Also it was true that whileLottie disliked Miss Minchin, who was cross, and Miss Amelia, who wasfoolishly indulgent, she rather liked Sara, little as she knew her. She did not want to give up her grievance, but her thoughts weredistracted from it, so she wriggled again, and, after a sulky sob, said, "Where is she?"

Sara paused a moment. Because she had been told that her mamma was inheaven, she had thought a great deal about the matter, and her thoughtshad not been quite like those of other people. 

"She went to heaven, " she said. "But I am sure she comes out sometimesto see me--though I don't see her. So does yours. Perhaps they canboth see us now. Perhaps they are both in this room. "

Lottie sat bolt upright, and looked about her. She was a pretty, little, curly-headed creature, and her round eyes were like wetforget-me-nots. If her mamma had seen her during the last half-hour, she might not have thought her the kind of child who ought to berelated to an angel. 

Sara went on talking. Perhaps some people might think that what shesaid was rather like a fairy story, but it was all so real to her ownimagination that Lottie began to listen in spite of herself. She hadbeen told that her mamma had wings and a crown, and she had been shownpictures of ladies in beautiful white nightgowns, who were said to beangels. But Sara seemed to be telling a real story about a lovelycountry where real people were. 

"There are fields and fields of flowers, " she said, forgetting herself, as usual, when she began, and talking rather as if she were in a dream, "fields and fields of lilies--and when the soft wind blows over them itwafts the scent of them into the air--and everybody always breathes it, because the soft wind is always blowing. And little children run aboutin the lily fields and gather armfuls of them, and laugh and makelittle wreaths. And the streets are shining. And people are nevertired, however far they walk. They can float anywhere they like. Andthere are walls made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they arelow enough for the people to go and lean on them, and look down ontothe earth and smile, and send beautiful messages. "

Whatsoever story she had begun to tell, Lottie would, no doubt, havestopped crying, and been fascinated into listening; but there was nodenying that this story was prettier than most others. She draggedherself close to Sara, and drank in every word until the end came--fartoo soon. When it did come, she was so sorry that she put up her lipominously. 

"I want to go there, " she cried. "I--haven't any mamma in this school. "

Sara saw the danger signal, and came out of her dream. She took holdof the chubby hand and pulled her close to her side with a coaxinglittle laugh. 

"I will be your mamma, " she said. "We will play that you are my littlegirl. And Emily shall be your sister. "

Lottie's dimples all began to show themselves. 

"Shall she?" she said. 

"Yes, " answered Sara, jumping to her feet. "Let us go and tell her. And then I will wash your face and brush your hair. "

To which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out of the roomand upstairs with her, without seeming even to remember that the wholeof the last hour's tragedy had been caused by the fact that she hadrefused to be washed and brushed for lunch and Miss Minchin had beencalled in to use her majestic authority. 

And from that time Sara was an adopted mother. 

5

Becky

Of course the greatest power Sara possessed and the one which gainedher even more followers than her luxuries and the fact that she was"the show pupil, " the power that Lavinia and certain other girls weremost envious of, and at the same time most fascinated by in spite ofthemselves, was her power of telling stories and of making everythingshe talked about seem like a story, whether it was one or not. 

Anyone who has been at school with a teller of stories knows what thewonder means--how he or she is followed about and besought in a whisperto relate romances; how groups gather round and hang on the outskirtsof the favored party in the hope of being allowed to join in andlisten. Sara not only could tell stories, but she adored telling them. When she sat or stood in the midst of a circle and began to inventwonderful things, her green eyes grew big and shining, her cheeksflushed, and, without knowing that she was doing it, she began to actand made what she told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping ofher voice, the bend and sway of her slim body, and the dramaticmovement of her hands. She forgot that she was talking to listeningchildren; she saw and lived with the fairy folk, or the kings andqueens and beautiful ladies, whose adventures she was narrating. Sometimes when she had finished her story, she was quite out of breathwith excitement, and would lay her hand on her thin, little, quick-rising chest, and half laugh as if at herself. 

"When I am telling it, " she would say, "it doesn't seem as if it wasonly made up. It seems more real than you are--more real than theschoolroom. I feel as if I were all the people in the story--one afterthe other. It is queer. "

She had been at Miss Minchin's school about two years when, one foggywinter's afternoon, as she was getting out of her carriage, comfortablywrapped up in her warmest velvets and furs and looking very muchgrander than she knew, she caught sight, as she crossed the pavement, of a dingy little figure standing on the area steps, and stretching itsneck so that its wide-open eyes might peer at her through the railings. Something in the eagerness and timidity of the smudgy face made herlook at it, and when she looked she smiled because it was her way tosmile at people. 

But the owner of the smudgy face and the wide-open eyes evidently wasafraid that she ought not to have been caught looking at pupils ofimportance. She dodged out of sight like a jack-in-the-box andscurried back into the kitchen, disappearing so suddenly that if shehad not been such a poor little forlorn thing, Sara would have laughedin spite of herself. That very evening, as Sara was sitting in themidst of a group of listeners in a corner of the schoolroom telling oneof her stories, the very same figure timidly entered the room, carryinga coal box much too heavy for her, and knelt down upon the hearth rugto replenish the fire and sweep up the ashes. 

She was cleaner than she had been when she peeped through the arearailings, but she looked just as frightened. She was evidently afraidto look at the children or seem to be listening. She put on pieces ofcoal cautiously with her fingers so that she might make no disturbingnoise, and she swept about the fire irons very softly. But Sara saw intwo minutes that she was deeply interested in what was going on, andthat she was doing her work slowly in the hope of catching a word hereand there. And realizing this, she raised her voice and spoke moreclearly. 

"The Mermaids swam softly about in the crystal-green water, and draggedafter them a fishing-net woven of deep-sea pearls, " she said. "ThePrincess sat on the white rock and watched them. "

It was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved by a PrinceMerman, and went to live with him in shining caves under the sea. 

The small drudge before the grate swept the hearth once and then sweptit again. Having done it twice, she did it three times; and, as shewas doing it the third time, the sound of the story so lured her tolisten that she fell under the spell and actually forgot that she hadno right to listen at all, and also forgot everything else. She satdown upon her heels as she knelt on the hearth rug, and the brush hungidly in her fingers. The voice of the storyteller went on and drew herwith it into winding grottos under the sea, glowing with soft, clearblue light, and paved with pure golden sands. Strange sea flowers andgrasses waved about her, and far away faint singing and music echoed. 

The hearth brush fell from the work-roughened hand, and Lavinia Herbertlooked round. 

"That girl has been listening, " she said. 

The culprit snatched up her brush, and scrambled to her feet. Shecaught at the coal box and simply scuttled out of the room like afrightened rabbit. 

Sara felt rather hot-tempered. 

"I knew she was listening, " she said. "Why shouldn't she?"

Lavinia tossed her head with great elegance. 

"Well, " she remarked, "I do not know whether your mamma would like youto tell stories to servant girls, but I know MY mamma wouldn't like MEto do it. "

"My mamma!" said Sara, looking odd. "I don't believe she would mind inthe least. She knows that stories belong to everybody. "

"I thought, " retorted Lavinia, in severe recollection, "that your mammawas dead. How can she know things?"

"Do you think she DOESN'T know things?" said Sara, in her stern littlevoice. Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice. 

"Sara's mamma knows everything, " piped in Lottie. "So does mymamma--'cept Sara is my mamma at Miss Minchin's--my other one knowseverything. The streets are shining, and there are fields and fieldsof lilies, and everybody gathers them. Sara tells me when she puts meto bed. "

"You wicked thing, " said Lavinia, turning on Sara; "making fairystories about heaven. "

"There are much more splendid stories in Revelation, " returned Sara. "Just look and see! How do you know mine are fairy stories? But I cantell you"--with a fine bit of unheavenly temper--"you will never findout whether they are or not if you're not kinder to people than you arenow. Come along, Lottie. " And she marched out of the room, ratherhoping that she might see the little servant again somewhere, but shefound no trace of her when she got into the hall. 

"Who is that little girl who makes the fires?" she asked Mariette thatnight. 

Mariette broke forth into a flow of description. 

Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle Sara might well ask. She was a forlorn littlething who had just taken the place of scullery maid--though, as tobeing scullery maid, she was everything else besides. She blacked bootsand grates, and carried heavy coal-scuttles up and down stairs, andscrubbed floors and cleaned windows, and was ordered about byeverybody. She was fourteen years old, but was so stunted in growththat she looked about twelve. In truth, Mariette was sorry for her. She was so timid that if one chanced to speak to her it appeared as ifher poor, frightened eyes would jump out of her head. 

"What is her name?" asked Sara, who had sat by the table, with her chinon her hands, as she listened absorbedly to the recital. 

Her name was Becky. Mariette heard everyone below-stairs calling, "Becky, do this, " and "Becky, do that, " every five minutes in the day. 

Sara sat and looked into the fire, reflecting on Becky for some timeafter Mariette left her. She made up a story of which Becky was theill-used heroine. She thought she looked as if she had never had quiteenough to eat. Her very eyes were hungry. She hoped she should seeher again, but though she caught sight of her carrying things up ordown stairs on several occasions, she always seemed in such a hurry andso afraid of being seen that it was impossible to speak to her. 

But a few weeks later, on another foggy afternoon, when she entered hersitting room she found herself confronting a rather pathetic picture. In her own special and pet easy-chair before the bright fire, Becky--with a coal smudge on her nose and several on her apron, withher poor little cap hanging half off her head, and an empty coal box onthe floor near her--sat fast asleep, tired out beyond even theendurance of her hard-working young body. She had been sent up to putthe bedrooms in order for the evening. There were a great many of them, and she had been running about all day. Sara's rooms she had saveduntil the last. They were not like the other rooms, which were plainand bare. Ordinary pupils were expected to be satisfied with merenecessaries. Sara's comfortable sitting room seemed a bower of luxuryto the scullery maid, though it was, in fact, merely a nice, brightlittle room. But there were pictures and books in it, and curiousthings from India; there was a sofa and the low, soft chair; Emily satin a chair of her own, with the air of a presiding goddess, and therewas always a glowing fire and a polished grate. Becky saved it untilthe end of her afternoon's work, because it rested her to go into it, and she always hoped to snatch a few minutes to sit down in the softchair and look about her, and think about the wonderful good fortune ofthe child who owned such surroundings and who went out on the cold daysin beautiful hats and coats one tried to catch a glimpse of through thearea railing. 

On this afternoon, when she had sat down, the sensation of relief toher short, aching legs had been so wonderful and delightful that it hadseemed to soothe her whole body, and the glow of warmth and comfortfrom the fire had crept over her like a spell, until, as she looked atthe red coals, a tired, slow smile stole over her smudged face, herhead nodded forward without her being aware of it, her eyes drooped, and she fell fast asleep. She had really been only about ten minutesin the room when Sara entered, but she was in as deep a sleep as if shehad been, like the Sleeping Beauty, slumbering for a hundred years. But she did not look--poor Becky--like a Sleeping Beauty at all. Shelooked only like an ugly, stunted, worn-out little scullery drudge. 

Sara seemed as much unlike her as if she were a creature from anotherworld. 

On this particular afternoon she had been taking her dancing lesson, and the afternoon on which the dancing master appeared was rather agrand occasion at the seminary, though it occurred every week. Thepupils were attired in their prettiest frocks, and as Sara dancedparticularly well, she was very much brought forward, and Mariette wasrequested to make her as diaphanous and fine as possible. 

Today a frock the color of a rose had been put on her, and Mariette hadbought some real buds and made her a wreath to wear on her black locks. She had been learning a new, delightful dance in which she had beenskimming and flying about the room, like a large rose-coloredbutterfly, and the enjoyment and exercise had brought a brilliant, happy glow into her face. 

When she entered the room, she floated in with a few of the butterflysteps--and there sat Becky, nodding her cap sideways off her head. 

"Oh!" cried Sara, softly, when she saw her. "That poor thing!"

It did not occur to her to feel cross at finding her pet chair occupiedby the small, dingy figure. To tell the truth, she was quite glad tofind it there. When the ill-used heroine of her story wakened, shecould talk to her. She crept toward her quietly, and stood looking ather. Becky gave a little snore. 

"I wish she'd waken herself, " Sara said. "I don't like to waken her. But Miss Minchin would be cross if she found out. I'll just wait a fewminutes. "

She took a seat on the edge of the table, and sat swinging her slim, rose-colored legs, and wondering what it would be best to do. MissAmelia might come in at any moment, and if she did, Becky would be sureto be scolded. 

"But she is so tired, " she thought. "She is so tired!"

A piece of flaming coal ended her perplexity for her that very moment. It broke off from a large lump and fell on to the fender. Beckystarted, and opened her eyes with a frightened gasp. She did not knowshe had fallen asleep. She had only sat down for one moment and feltthe beautiful glow--and here she found herself staring in wild alarm atthe wonderful pupil, who sat perched quite near her, like arose-colored fairy, with interested eyes. 

She sprang up and clutched at her cap. She felt it dangling over herear, and tried wildly to put it straight. Oh, she had got herself intotrouble now with a vengeance! To have impudently fallen asleep on sucha young lady's chair! She would be turned out of doors without wages. 

She made a sound like a big breathless sob. 

"Oh, miss! Oh, miss!" she stuttered. "I arst yer pardon, miss! Oh, Ido, miss!"

Sara jumped down, and came quite close to her. 

"Don't be frightened, " she said, quite as if she had been speaking to alittle girl like herself. "It doesn't matter the least bit. "

"I didn't go to do it, miss, " protested Becky. "It was the warmfire--an' me bein' so tired. It--it WASN'T impertience!"

Sara broke into a friendly little laugh, and put her hand on hershoulder. 

"You were tired, " she said; "you could not help it. You are not reallyawake yet. "

How poor Becky stared at her! In fact, she had never heard such anice, friendly sound in anyone's voice before. She was used to beingordered about and scolded, and having her ears boxed. And this one--inher rose-colored dancing afternoon splendor--was looking at her as ifshe were not a culprit at all--as if she had a right to be tired--evento fall asleep! The touch of the soft, slim little paw on her shoulderwas the most amazing thing she had ever known. 

"Ain't--ain't yer angry, miss?" she gasped. "Ain't yer goin' to tellthe missus?"

"No, " cried out Sara. "Of course I'm not. "

The woeful fright in the coal-smutted face made her suddenly so sorrythat she could scarcely bear it. One of her queer thoughts rushed intoher mind. She put her hand against Becky's cheek. 

"Why, " she said, "we are just the same--I am only a little girl likeyou. It's just an accident that I am not you, and you are not me!"

Becky did not understand in the least. Her mind could not grasp suchamazing thoughts, and "an accident" meant to her a calamity in whichsome one was run over or fell off a ladder and was carried to "the'orspital. "

"A' accident, miss, " she fluttered respectfully. "Is it?"

"Yes, " Sara answered, and she looked at her dreamily for a moment. Butthe next she spoke in a different tone. She realized that Becky didnot know what she meant. 

"Have you done your work?" she asked. "Dare you stay here a fewminutes?"

Becky lost her breath again. 

"Here, miss? Me?"

Sara ran to the door, opened it, and looked out and listened. 

"No one is anywhere about, " she explained. "If your bedrooms arefinished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while. I thought--perhaps--youmight like a piece of cake. "

The next ten minutes seemed to Becky like a sort of delirium. Saraopened a cupboard, and gave her a thick slice of cake. She seemed torejoice when it was devoured in hungry bites. She talked and askedquestions, and laughed until Becky's fears actually began to calmthemselves, and she once or twice gathered boldness enough to ask aquestion or so herself, daring as she felt it to be. 

"Is that--" she ventured, looking longingly at the rose-colored frock. And she asked it almost in a whisper. "Is that there your best?"

"It is one of my dancing-frocks, " answered Sara. "I like it, don'tyou?"

For a few seconds Becky was almost speechless with admiration. Thenshe said in an awed voice, "Onct I see a princess. I was standin' inthe street with the crowd outside Covin' Garden, watchin' the swells gointer the operer. An' there was one everyone stared at most. They sesto each other, 'That's the princess. ' She was a growed-up young lady, but she was pink all over--gownd an' cloak, an' flowers an' all. Icalled her to mind the minnit I see you, sittin' there on the table, miss. You looked like her. "

"I've often thought, " said Sara, in her reflecting voice, "that Ishould like to be a princess; I wonder what it feels like. I believe Iwill begin pretending I am one. "

Becky stared at her admiringly, and, as before, did not understand herin the least. She watched her with a sort of adoration. Very soon Saraleft her reflections and turned to her with a new question. 

"Becky, " she said, "weren't you listening to that story?"

"Yes, miss, " confessed Becky, a little alarmed again. "I knowed Ihadn't orter, but it was that beautiful I--I couldn't help it. "

"I liked you to listen to it, " said Sara. "If you tell stories, youlike nothing so much as to tell them to people who want to listen. Idon't know why it is. Would you like to hear the rest?"

Becky lost her breath again. 

"Me hear it?" she cried. "Like as if I was a pupil, miss! All aboutthe Prince--and the little white Mer-babies swimming aboutlaughing--with stars in their hair?"

Sara nodded. 

"You haven't time to hear it now, I'm afraid, " she said; "but if youwill tell me just what time you come to do my rooms, I will try to behere and tell you a bit of it every day until it is finished. It's alovely long one--and I'm always putting new bits to it. "

"Then, " breathed Becky, devoutly, "I wouldn't mind HOW heavy the coalboxes was--or WHAT the cook done to me, if--if I might have that tothink of. "

"You may, " said Sara. "I'll tell it ALL to you. "

When Becky went downstairs, she was not the same Becky who hadstaggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal scuttle. She had anextra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, butnot only by cake and fire. Something else had warmed and fed her, andthe something else was Sara. 

When she was gone Sara sat on her favorite perch on the end of hertable. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees, and her chinin her hands. 

"If I WAS a princess--a REAL princess, " she murmured, "I could scatterlargess to the populace. But even if I am only a pretend princess, Ican invent little things to do for people. Things like this. She wasjust as happy as if it was largess. I'll pretend that to do thingspeople like is scattering largess. I've scattered largess. "

6

The Diamond Mines

Not very long after this a very exciting thing happened. Not only Sara, but the entire school, found it exciting, and made it the chief subjectof conversation for weeks after it occurred. In one of his lettersCaptain Crewe told a most interesting story. A friend who had been atschool with him when he was a boy had unexpectedly come to see him inIndia. He was the owner of a large tract of land upon which diamondshad been found, and he was engaged in developing the mines. If allwent as was confidently expected, he would become possessed of suchwealth as it made one dizzy to think of; and because he was fond of thefriend of his school days, he had given him an opportunity to share inthis enormous fortune by becoming a partner in his scheme. This, atleast, was what Sara gathered from his letters. It is true that anyother business scheme, however magnificent, would have had but smallattraction for her or for the schoolroom; but "diamond mines" soundedso like the Arabian Nights that no one could be indifferent. Sarathought them enchanting, and painted pictures, for Ermengarde andLottie, of labyrinthine passages in the bowels of the earth, wheresparkling stones studded the walls and roofs and ceilings, and strange, dark men dug them out with heavy picks. Ermengarde delighted in thestory, and Lottie insisted on its being retold to her every evening. Lavinia was very spiteful about it, and told Jessie that she didn'tbelieve such things as diamond mines existed. 

"My mamma has a diamond ring which cost forty pounds, " she said. "Andit is not a big one, either. If there were mines full of diamonds, people would be so rich it would be ridiculous. "

"Perhaps Sara will be so rich that she will be ridiculous, " giggledJessie. 

"She's ridiculous without being rich, " Lavinia sniffed. 

"I believe you hate her, " said Jessie. 

"No, I don't, " snapped Lavinia. "But I don't believe in mines full ofdiamonds. "

"Well, people have to get them from somewhere, " said Jessie. "Lavinia, " with a new giggle, "what do you think Gertrude says?"

"I don't know, I'm sure; and I don't care if it's something more aboutthat everlasting Sara. "

"Well, it is. One of her 'pretends' is that she is a princess. Sheplays it all the time--even in school. She says it makes her learn herlessons better. She wants Ermengarde to be one, too, but Ermengardesays she is too fat. "

"She IS too fat, " said Lavinia. "And Sara is too thin. "

Naturally, Jessie giggled again. 

"She says it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what youhave. It has only to do with what you THINK of, and what you DO. "

"I suppose she thinks she could be a princess if she was a beggar, "said Lavinia. "Let us begin to call her Your Royal Highness. "

Lessons for the day were over, and they were sitting before theschoolroom fire, enjoying the time they liked best. It was the timewhen Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia were taking their tea in the sittingroom sacred to themselves. At this hour a great deal of talking wasdone, and a great many secrets changed hands, particularly if theyounger pupils behaved themselves well, and did not squabble or runabout noisily, which it must be confessed they usually did. When theymade an uproar the older girls usually interfered with scolding andshakes. They were expected to keep order, and there was danger that ifthey did not, Miss Minchin or Miss Amelia would appear and put an endto festivities. Even as Lavinia spoke the door opened and Sara enteredwith Lottie, whose habit was to trot everywhere after her like a littledog. 

"There she is, with that horrid child!" exclaimed Lavinia in a whisper. "If she's so fond of her, why doesn't she keep her in her own room? Shewill begin howling about something in five minutes. "

It happened that Lottie had been seized with a sudden desire to play inthe schoolroom, and had begged her adopted parent to come with her. Shejoined a group of little ones who were playing in a corner. Sara curledherself up in the window-seat, opened a book, and began to read. Itwas a book about the French Revolution, and she was soon lost in aharrowing picture of the prisoners in the Bastille--men who had spentso many years in dungeons that when they were dragged out by those whorescued them, their long, gray hair and beards almost hid their faces, and they had forgotten that an outside world existed at all, and werelike beings in a dream. 

She was so far away from the schoolroom that it was not agreeable to bedragged back suddenly by a howl from Lottie. Never did she findanything so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper whenshe was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who arefond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them atsuch a moment. The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is onenot easy to manage. 

"It makes me feel as if someone had hit me, " Sara had told Ermengardeonce in confidence. "And as if I want to hit back. I have to rememberthings quickly to keep from saying something ill-tempered. "

She had to remember things quickly when she laid her book on thewindow-seat and jumped down from her comfortable corner. 

Lottie had been sliding across the schoolroom floor, and, having firstirritated Lavinia and Jessie by making a noise, had ended by fallingdown and hurting her fat knee. She was screaming and dancing up anddown in the midst of a group of friends and enemies, who werealternately coaxing and scolding her. 

"Stop this minute, you cry-baby! Stop this minute!" Lavinia commanded. 

"I'm not a cry-baby . . . I'm not!" wailed Lottie. "Sara, Sa--ra!"

"If she doesn't stop, Miss Minchin will hear her, " cried Jessie. "Lottie darling, I'll give you a penny!"

"I don't want your penny, " sobbed Lottie; and she looked down at thefat knee, and, seeing a drop of blood on it, burst forth again. 

Sara flew across the room and, kneeling down, put her arms round her. 

"Now, Lottie, " she said. "Now, Lottie, you PROMISED Sara. "

"She said I was a cry-baby, " wept Lottie. 

Sara patted her, but spoke in the steady voice Lottie knew. 

"But if you cry, you will be one, Lottie pet. You PROMISED. " Lottieremembered that she had promised, but she preferred to lift up hervoice. 

"I haven't any mamma, " she proclaimed. "I haven't--a bit--of mamma. "

"Yes, you have, " said Sara, cheerfully. "Have you forgotten? Don'tyou know that Sara is your mamma? Don't you want Sara for your mamma?"

Lottie cuddled up to her with a consoled sniff. 

"Come and sit in the window-seat with me, " Sara went on, "and I'llwhisper a story to you. "

"Will you?" whimpered Lottie. "Will you--tell me--about the diamondmines?"

"The diamond mines?" broke out Lavinia. "Nasty, little spoiled thing, I should like to SLAP her!"

Sara got up quickly on her feet. It must be remembered that she hadbeen very deeply absorbed in the book about the Bastille, and she hadhad to recall several things rapidly when she realized that she must goand take care of her adopted child. She was not an angel, and she wasnot fond of Lavinia. 

"Well, " she said, with some fire, "I should like to slap YOU--but Idon't want to slap you!" restraining herself. "At least I both want toslap you--and I should LIKE to slap you--but I WON'T slap you. We arenot little gutter children. We are both old enough to know better. "

Here was Lavinia's opportunity. 

"Ah, yes, your royal highness, " she said. "We are princesses, Ibelieve. At least one of us is. The school ought to be veryfashionable now Miss Minchin has a princess for a pupil. "

Sara started toward her. She looked as if she were going to box herears. Perhaps she was. Her trick of pretending things was the joy ofher life. She never spoke of it to girls she was not fond of. Her new"pretend" about being a princess was very near to her heart, and shewas shy and sensitive about it. She had meant it to be rather asecret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all the school. She felt the blood rush up into her face and tingle in her ears. Sheonly just saved herself. If you were a princess, you did not fly intorages. Her hand dropped, and she stood quite still a moment. When shespoke it was in a quiet, steady voice; she held her head up, andeverybody listened to her. 

"It's true, " she said. "Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess. Ipretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one. "

Lavinia could not think of exactly the right thing to say. Severaltimes she had found that she could not think of a satisfactory replywhen she was dealing with Sara. The reason for this was that, somehow, the rest always seemed to be vaguely in sympathy with her opponent. Shesaw now that they were pricking up their ears interestedly. The truthwas, they liked princesses, and they all hoped they might hearsomething more definite about this one, and drew nearer Saraaccordingly. 

Lavinia could only invent one remark, and it fell rather flat. 

"Dear me, " she said, "I hope, when you ascend the throne, you won'tforget us!"

"I won't, " said Sara, and she did not utter another word, but stoodquite still, and stared at her steadily as she saw her take Jessie'sarm and turn away. 

After this, the girls who were jealous of her used to speak of her as"Princess Sara" whenever they wished to be particularly disdainful, andthose who were fond of her gave her the name among themselves as a termof affection. No one called her "princess" instead of "Sara, " but heradorers were much pleased with the picturesqueness and grandeur of thetitle, and Miss Minchin, hearing of it, mentioned it more than once tovisiting parents, feeling that it rather suggested a sort of royalboarding school. 

To Becky it seemed the most appropriate thing in the world. Theacquaintance begun on the foggy afternoon when she had jumped upterrified from her sleep in the comfortable chair, had ripened andgrown, though it must be confessed that Miss Minchin and Miss Ameliaknew very little about it. They were aware that Sara was "kind" to thescullery maid, but they knew nothing of certain delightful momentssnatched perilously when, the upstairs rooms being set in order withlightning rapidity, Sara's sitting room was reached, and the heavy coalbox set down with a sigh of joy. At such times stories were told byinstallments, things of a satisfying nature were either produced andeaten or hastily tucked into pockets to be disposed of at night, whenBecky went upstairs to her attic to bed. 

"But I has to eat 'em careful, miss, " she said once; "'cos if I leavescrumbs the rats come out to get 'em. "

"Rats!" exclaimed Sara, in horror. "Are there RATS there?"

"Lots of 'em, miss, " Becky answered in quite a matter-of-fact manner. "There mostly is rats an' mice in attics. You gets used to the noisethey makes scuttling about. I've got so I don't mind 'em s' long asthey don't run over my piller. "

"Ugh!" said Sara. 

"You gets used to anythin' after a bit, " said Becky. "You have to, miss, if you're born a scullery maid. I'd rather have rats thancockroaches. "

"So would I, " said Sara; "I suppose you might make friends with a ratin time, but I don't believe I should like to make friends with acockroach. "

Sometimes Becky did not dare to spend more than a few minutes in thebright, warm room, and when this was the case perhaps only a few wordscould be exchanged, and a small purchase slipped into the old-fashionedpocket Becky carried under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with aband of tape. The search for and discovery of satisfying things to eatwhich could be packed into small compass, added a new interest toSara's existence. When she drove or walked out, she used to look intoshop windows eagerly. The first time it occurred to her to bring hometwo or three little meat pies, she felt that she had hit upon adiscovery. When she exhibited them, Becky's eyes quite sparkled. 

"Oh, miss!" she murmured. "Them will be nice an' fillin. ' It'sfillin'ness that's best. Sponge cake's a 'evenly thing, but it meltsaway like--if you understand, miss. These'll just STAY in yerstummick. "

"Well, " hesitated Sara, "I don't think it would be good if they stayedalways, but I do believe they will be satisfying. "

They were satisfying--and so were beef sandwiches, bought at acook-shop--and so were rolls and Bologna sausage. In time, Becky beganto lose her hungry, tired feeling, and the coal box did not seem sounbearably heavy. 

However heavy it was, and whatsoever the temper of the cook, and thehardness of the work heaped upon her shoulders, she had always thechance of the afternoon to look forward to--the chance that Miss Sarawould be able to be in her sitting room. In fact, the mere seeing ofMiss Sara would have been enough without meat pies. If there was timeonly for a few words, they were always friendly, merry words that putheart into one; and if there was time for more, then there was aninstallment of a story to be told, or some other thing one rememberedafterward and sometimes lay awake in one's bed in the attic to thinkover. Sara--who was only doing what she unconsciously liked betterthan anything else, Nature having made her for a giver--had not theleast idea what she meant to poor Becky, and how wonderful a benefactorshe seemed. If Nature has made you for a giver, your hands are bornopen, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when yourhands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things outof that--warm things, kind things, sweet things--help and comfort andlaughter--and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all. 

Becky had scarcely known what laughter was through all her poor, littlehard-driven life. Sara made her laugh, and laughed with her; and, though neither of them quite knew it, the laughter was as "fillin'" asthe meat pies. 

A few weeks before Sara's eleventh birthday a letter came to her fromher father, which did not seem to be written in such boyish highspirits as usual. He was not very well, and was evidently overweightedby the business connected with the diamond mines. 

"You see, little Sara, " he wrote, "your daddy is not a businessman atall, and figures and documents bother him. He does not reallyunderstand them, and all this seems so enormous. Perhaps, if I was notfeverish I should not be awake, tossing about, one half of the nightand spend the other half in troublesome dreams. If my little missuswere here, I dare say she would give me some solemn, good advice. Youwould, wouldn't you, Little Missus?"

One of his many jokes had been to call her his "little missus" becauseshe had such an old-fashioned air. 

He had made wonderful preparations for her birthday. Among otherthings, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, and her wardrobe was tobe, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfection. When she had replied tothe letter asking her if the doll would be an acceptable present, Sarahad been very quaint. 

"I am getting very old, " she wrote; "you see, I shall never live tohave another doll given me. This will be my last doll. There issomething solemn about it. If I could write poetry, I am sure a poemabout 'A Last Doll' would be very nice. But I cannot write poetry. Ihave tried, and it made me laugh. It did not sound like Watts orColeridge or Shakespeare at all. No one could ever take Emily's place, but I should respect the Last Doll very much; and I am sure the schoolwould love it. They all like dolls, though some of the big ones--thealmost fifteen ones--pretend they are too grown up. "

Captain Crewe had a splitting headache when he read this letter in hisbungalow in India. The table before him was heaped with papers andletters which were alarming him and filling him with anxious dread, buthe laughed as he had not laughed for weeks. 

"Oh, " he said, "she's better fun every year she lives. God grant thisbusiness may right itself and leave me free to run home and see her. What wouldn't I give to have her little arms round my neck this minute!What WOULDN'T I give!"

The birthday was to be celebrated by great festivities. The schoolroomwas to be decorated, and there was to be a party. The boxes containingthe presents were to be opened with great ceremony, and there was to bea glittering feast spread in Miss Minchin's sacred room. When the dayarrived the whole house was in a whirl of excitement. How the morningpassed nobody quite knew, because there seemed such preparations to bemade. The schoolroom was being decked with garlands of holly; thedesks had been moved away, and red covers had been put on the formswhich were arrayed round the room against the wall. 

When Sara went into her sitting room in the morning, she found on thetable a small, dumpy package, tied up in a piece of brown paper. Sheknew it was a present, and she thought she could guess whom it camefrom. She opened it quite tenderly. It was a square pincushion, madeof not quite clean red flannel, and black pins had been stuck carefullyinto it to form the words, "Menny hapy returns. "

"Oh!" cried Sara, with a warm feeling in her heart. "What pains shehas taken! I like it so, it--it makes me feel sorrowful. "

But the next moment she was mystified. On the under side of thepincushion was secured a card, bearing in neat letters the name "MissAmelia Minchin. "

Sara turned it over and over. 

"Miss Amelia!" she said to herself "How CAN it be!"

And just at that very moment she heard the door being cautiously pushedopen and saw Becky peeping round it. 

There was an affectionate, happy grin on her face, and she shuffledforward and stood nervously pulling at her fingers. 

"Do yer like it, Miss Sara?" she said. "Do yer?"

"Like it?" cried Sara. "You darling Becky, you made it all yourself. "

Becky gave a hysteric but joyful sniff, and her eyes looked quite moistwith delight. 

"It ain't nothin' but flannin, an' the flannin ain't new; but I wantedto give yer somethin' an' I made it of nights. I knew yer could PRETENDit was satin with diamond pins in. _I_ tried to when I was makin' it. The card, miss, " rather doubtfully; "'t warn't wrong of me to pick itup out o' the dust-bin, was it? Miss 'Meliar had throwed it away. Ihadn't no card o' my own, an' I knowed it wouldn't be a proper presinkif I didn't pin a card on--so I pinned Miss 'Meliar's. "

Sara flew at her and hugged her. She could not have told herself oranyone else why there was a lump in her throat. 

"Oh, Becky!" she cried out, with a queer little laugh, "I love you, Becky--I do, I do!"

"Oh, miss!" breathed Becky. "Thank yer, miss, kindly; it ain't goodenough for that. The--the flannin wasn't new. "

7

The Diamond Mines Again

When Sara entered the holly-hung schoolroom in the afternoon, she didso as the head of a sort of procession. Miss Minchin, in her grandestsilk dress, led her by the hand. A manservant followed, carrying thebox containing the Last Doll, a housemaid carried a second box, andBecky brought up the rear, carrying a third and wearing a clean apronand a new cap. Sara would have much preferred to enter in the usualway, but Miss Minchin had sent for her, and, after an interview in herprivate sitting room, had expressed her wishes. 

"This is not an ordinary occasion, " she said. "I do not desire that itshould be treated as one. "

So Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when, on her entry, the biggirls stared at her and touched each other's elbows, and the littleones began to squirm joyously in their seats. 

"Silence, young ladies!" said Miss Minchin, at the murmur which arose. "James, place the box on the table and remove the lid. Emma, put yoursupon a chair. Becky!" suddenly and severely. 

Becky had quite forgotten herself in her excitement, and was grinningat Lottie, who was wriggling with rapturous expectation. She almostdropped her box, the disapproving voice so startled her, and herfrightened, bobbing curtsy of apology was so funny that Lavinia andJessie tittered. 

"It is not your place to look at the young ladies, " said Miss Minchin. "You forget yourself. Put your box down. "

Becky obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward the door. 

"You may leave us, " Miss Minchin announced to the servants with a waveof her hand. 

Becky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servants to passout first. She could not help casting a longing glance at the box onthe table. Something made of blue satin was peeping from between thefolds of tissue paper. 

"If you please, Miss Minchin, " said Sara, suddenly, "mayn't Becky stay?"

It was a bold thing to do. Miss Minchin was betrayed into somethinglike a slight jump. Then she put her eyeglass up, and gazed at hershow pupil disturbedly. 

"Becky!" she exclaimed. "My dearest Sara!"

Sara advanced a step toward her. 

"I want her because I know she will like to see the presents, " sheexplained. "She is a little girl, too, you know. "

Miss Minchin was scandalized. She glanced from one figure to the other. 

"My dear Sara, " she said, "Becky is the scullery maid. Scullerymaids--er--are not little girls. "

It really had not occurred to her to think of them in that light. Scullery maids were machines who carried coal scuttles and made fires. 

"But Becky is, " said Sara. "And I know she would enjoy herself. Please let her stay--because it is my birthday. "

Miss Minchin replied with much dignity:

"As you ask it as a birthday favor--she may stay. Rebecca, thank MissSara for her great kindness. "

Becky had been backing into the corner, twisting the hem of her apronin delighted suspense. She came forward, bobbing curtsies, but betweenSara's eyes and her own there passed a gleam of friendly understanding, while her words tumbled over each other. 

"Oh, if you please, miss! I'm that grateful, miss! I did want to seethe doll, miss, that I did. Thank you, miss. And thank you, ma'am, "--turning and making an alarmed bob to Miss Minchin--"forletting me take the liberty. "

Miss Minchin waved her hand again--this time it was in the direction ofthe corner near the door. 

"Go and stand there, " she commanded. "Not too near the young ladies. "

Becky went to her place, grinning. She did not care where she wassent, so that she might have the luck of being inside the room, insteadof being downstairs in the scullery, while these delights were goingon. She did not even mind when Miss Minchin cleared her throatominously and spoke again. 

"Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you, " she announced. 

"She's going to make a speech, " whispered one of the girls. "I wish itwas over. "

Sara felt rather uncomfortable. As this was her party, it was probablethat the speech was about her. It is not agreeable to stand in aschoolroom and have a speech made about you. 

"You are aware, young ladies, " the speech began--for it was aspeech--"that dear Sara is eleven years old today. "

"DEAR Sara!" murmured Lavinia. 

"Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but Sara'sbirthdays are rather different from other little girls' birthdays. Whenshe is older she will be heiress to a large fortune, which it will beher duty to spend in a meritorious manner. "

"The diamond mines, " giggled Jessie, in a whisper. 

Sara did not hear her; but as she stood with her green-gray eyes fixedsteadily on Miss Minchin, she felt herself growing rather hot. WhenMiss Minchin talked about money, she felt somehow that she always hatedher--and, of course, it was disrespectful to hate grown-up people. 

"When her dear papa, Captain Crewe, brought her from India and gave herinto my care, " the speech proceeded, "he said to me, in a jesting way, 'I am afraid she will be very rich, Miss Minchin. ' My reply was, 'Hereducation at my seminary, Captain Crewe, shall be such as will adornthe largest fortune. ' Sara has become my most accomplished pupil. HerFrench and her dancing are a credit to the seminary. Hermanners--which have caused you to call her Princess Sara--are perfect. Her amiability she exhibits by giving you this afternoon's party. Ihope you appreciate her generosity. I wish you to express yourappreciation of it by saying aloud all together, 'Thank you, Sara!'"

The entire schoolroom rose to its feet as it had done the morning Sararemembered so well. 

"Thank you, Sara!" it said, and it must be confessed that Lottie jumpedup and down. Sara looked rather shy for a moment. She made acurtsy--and it was a very nice one. 

"Thank you, " she said, "for coming to my party. "

"Very pretty, indeed, Sara, " approved Miss Minchin. "That is what areal princess does when the populace applauds her. Lavinia"--scathingly--"the sound you just made was extremely like asnort. If you are jealous of your fellow-pupil, I beg you will expressyour feelings in some more lady-like manner. Now I will leave you toenjoy yourselves. "

The instant she had swept out of the room the spell her presence alwayshad upon them was broken. The door had scarcely closed before everyseat was empty. The little girls jumped or tumbled out of theirs; theolder ones wasted no time in deserting theirs. There was a rush towardthe boxes. Sara had bent over one of them with a delighted face. 

"These are books, I know, " she said. 

The little children broke into a rueful murmur, and Ermengarde lookedaghast. 

"Does your papa send you books for a birthday present?" she exclaimed. "Why, he's as bad as mine. Don't open them, Sara. "

"I like them, " Sara laughed, but she turned to the biggest box. Whenshe took out the Last Doll it was so magnificent that the childrenuttered delighted groans of joy, and actually drew back to gaze at itin breathless rapture. 

"She is almost as big as Lottie, " someone gasped. 

Lottie clapped her hands and danced about, giggling. 

"She's dressed for the theater, " said Lavinia. "Her cloak is linedwith ermine. "

"Oh, " cried Ermengarde, darting forward, "she has an opera-glass in herhand--a blue-and-gold one!"

"Here is her trunk, " said Sara. "Let us open it and look at herthings. "

She sat down upon the floor and turned the key. The children crowdedclamoring around her, as she lifted tray after tray and revealed theircontents. Never had the schoolroom been in such an uproar. There werelace collars and silk stockings and handkerchiefs; there was a jewelcase containing a necklace and a tiara which looked quite as if theywere made of real diamonds; there was a long sealskin and muff, therewere ball dresses and walking dresses and visiting dresses; there werehats and tea gowns and fans. Even Lavinia and Jessie forgot that theywere too elderly to care for dolls, and uttered exclamations of delightand caught up things to look at them. 

"Suppose, " Sara said, as she stood by the table, putting a large, black-velvet hat on the impassively smiling owner of all thesesplendors--"suppose she understands human talk and feels proud of beingadmired. "

"You are always supposing things, " said Lavinia, and her air was verysuperior. 

"I know I am, " answered Sara, undisturbedly. "I like it. There isnothing so nice as supposing. It's almost like being a fairy. If yousuppose anything hard enough it seems as if it were real. "

"It's all very well to suppose things if you have everything, " saidLavinia. "Could you suppose and pretend if you were a beggar and livedin a garret?"

Sara stopped arranging the Last Doll's ostrich plumes, and lookedthoughtful. 

"I BELIEVE I could, " she said. "If one was a beggar, one would have tosuppose and pretend all the time. But it mightn't be easy. "

She often thought afterward how strange it was that just as she hadfinished saying this--just at that very moment--Miss Amelia came intothe room. 

"Sara, " she said, "your papa's solicitor, Mr. Barrow, has called to seeMiss Minchin, and, as she must talk to him alone and the refreshmentsare laid in her parlor, you had all better come and have your feastnow, so that my sister can have her interview here in the schoolroom. "

Refreshments were not likely to be disdained at any hour, and manypairs of eyes gleamed. Miss Amelia arranged the procession intodecorum, and then, with Sara at her side heading it, she led it away, leaving the Last Doll sitting upon a chair with the glories of herwardrobe scattered about her; dresses and coats hung upon chair backs, piles of lace-frilled petticoats lying upon their seats. 

Becky, who was not expected to partake of refreshments, had theindiscretion to linger a moment to look at these beauties--it reallywas an indiscretion. 

"Go back to your work, Becky, " Miss Amelia had said; but she hadstopped to pick up reverently first a muff and then a coat, and whileshe stood looking at them adoringly, she heard Miss Minchin upon thethreshold, and, being smitten with terror at the thought of beingaccused of taking liberties, she rashly darted under the table, whichhid her by its tablecloth. 

Miss Minchin came into the room, accompanied by a sharp-featured, drylittle gentleman, who looked rather disturbed. Miss Minchin herselfalso looked rather disturbed, it must be admitted, and she gazed at thedry little gentleman with an irritated and puzzled expression. 

She sat down with stiff dignity, and waved him to a chair. 

"Pray, be seated, Mr. Barrow, " she said. 

Mr. Barrow did not sit down at once. His attention seemed attracted bythe Last Doll and the things which surrounded her. He settled hiseyeglasses and looked at them in nervous disapproval. The Last Dollherself did not seem to mind this in the least. She merely sat uprightand returned his gaze indifferently. 

"A hundred pounds, " Mr. Barrow remarked succinctly. "All expensivematerial, and made at a Parisian modiste's. He spent money lavishlyenough, that young man. "

Miss Minchin felt offended. This seemed to be a disparagement of herbest patron and was a liberty. 

Even solicitors had no right to take liberties. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Barrow, " she said stiffly. "I do notunderstand. "

"Birthday presents, " said Mr. Barrow in the same critical manner, "to achild eleven years old! Mad extravagance, I call it. "

Miss Minchin drew herself up still more rigidly. 

"Captain Crewe is a man of fortune, " she said. "The diamond minesalone--"

Mr. Barrow wheeled round upon her. "Diamond mines!" he broke out. "There are none! Never were!"

Miss Minchin actually got up from her chair. 

"What!" she cried. "What do you mean?"

"At any rate, " answered Mr. Barrow, quite snappishly, "it would havebeen much better if there never had been any. "

"Any diamond mines?" ejaculated Miss Minchin, catching at the back of achair and feeling as if a splendid dream was fading away from her. 

"Diamond mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth, " said Mr. Barrow. "When a man is in the hands of a very dear friend and is not abusinessman himself, he had better steer clear of the dear friend'sdiamond mines, or gold mines, or any other kind of mines dear friendswant his money to put into. The late Captain Crewe--"

Here Miss Minchin stopped him with a gasp. 

"The LATE Captain Crewe!" she cried out. "The LATE! You don't come totell me that Captain Crewe is--"

"He's dead, ma'am, " Mr. Barrow answered with jerky brusqueness. "Diedof jungle fever and business troubles combined. The jungle fever mightnot have killed him if he had not been driven mad by the businesstroubles, and the business troubles might not have put an end to him ifthe jungle fever had not assisted. Captain Crewe is dead!"

Miss Minchin dropped into her chair again. The words he had spokenfilled her with alarm. 

"What WERE his business troubles?" she said. "What WERE they?"

"Diamond mines, " answered Mr. Barrow, "and dear friends--and ruin. "

Miss Minchin lost her breath. 

"Ruin!" she gasped out. 

"Lost every penny. That young man had too much money. The dear friendwas mad on the subject of the diamond mine. He put all his own moneyinto it, and all Captain Crewe's. Then the dear friend ranaway--Captain Crewe was already stricken with fever when the news came. The shock was too much for him. He died delirious, raving about hislittle girl--and didn't leave a penny. "

Now Miss Minchin understood, and never had she received such a blow inher life. Her show pupil, her show patron, swept away from the SelectSeminary at one blow. She felt as if she had been outraged and robbed, and that Captain Crewe and Sara and Mr. Barrow were equally to blame. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " she cried out, "that he left NOTHING! ThatSara will have no fortune! That the child is a beggar! That she isleft on my hands a little pauper instead of an heiress?"

Mr. Barrow was a shrewd businessman, and felt it as well to make hisown freedom from responsibility quite clear without any delay. 

"She is certainly left a beggar, " he replied. "And she is certainlyleft on your hands, ma'am--as she hasn't a relation in the world thatwe know of. "

Miss Minchin started forward. She looked as if she was going to openthe door and rush out of the room to stop the festivities going onjoyfully and rather noisily that moment over the refreshments. 

"It is monstrous!" she said. "She's in my sitting room at this moment, dressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, giving a party at myexpense. "

"She's giving it at your expense, madam, if she's giving it, " said Mr. Barrow, calmly. "Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible for anything. There never was a cleaner sweep made of a man's fortune. Captain Crewedied without paying OUR last bill--and it was a big one. "

Miss Minchin turned back from the door in increased indignation. Thiswas worse than anyone could have dreamed of its being. 

"That is what has happened to me!" she cried. "I was always so sure ofhis payments that I went to all sorts of ridiculous expenses for thechild. I paid the bills for that ridiculous doll and her ridiculousfantastic wardrobe. The child was to have anything she wanted. Shehas a carriage and a pony and a maid, and I've paid for all of themsince the last cheque came. "

Mr. Barrow evidently did not intend to remain to listen to the story ofMiss Minchin's grievances after he had made the position of his firmclear and related the mere dry facts. He did not feel any particularsympathy for irate keepers of boarding schools. 

"You had better not pay for anything more, ma'am, " he remarked, "unlessyou want to make presents to the young lady. No one will remember you. She hasn't a brass farthing to call her own. "

"But what am I to do?" demanded Miss Minchin, as if she felt itentirely his duty to make the matter right. "What am I to do?"

"There isn't anything to do, " said Mr. Barrow, folding up hiseyeglasses and slipping them into his pocket. "Captain Crewe is dead. The child is left a pauper. Nobody is responsible for her but you. "

"I am not responsible for her, and I refuse to be made responsible!"

Miss Minchin became quite white with rage. 

Mr. Barrow turned to go. 

"I have nothing to do with that, madam, " he said uninterestedly. "Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible. Very sorry the thing hashappened, of course. "

"If you think she is to be foisted off on me, you are greatlymistaken, " Miss Minchin gasped. "I have been robbed and cheated; Iwill turn her into the street!"

If she had not been so furious, she would have been too discreet to sayquite so much. She saw herself burdened with an extravagantlybrought-up child whom she had always resented, and she lost allself-control. 

Mr. Barrow undisturbedly moved toward the door. 

"I wouldn't do that, madam, " he commented; "it wouldn't look well. Unpleasant story to get about in connection with the establishment. Pupil bundled out penniless and without friends. "

He was a clever business man, and he knew what he was saying. He alsoknew that Miss Minchin was a business woman, and would be shrewd enoughto see the truth. She could not afford to do a thing which would makepeople speak of her as cruel and hard-hearted. 

"Better keep her and make use of her, " he added. "She's a cleverchild, I believe. You can get a good deal out of her as she growsolder. "

"I will get a good deal out of her before she grows older!" exclaimedMiss Minchin. 

"I am sure you will, ma'am, " said Mr. Barrow, with a little sinistersmile. "I am sure you will. Good morning!"

He bowed himself out and closed the door, and it must be confessed thatMiss Minchin stood for a few moments and glared at it. What he hadsaid was quite true. She knew it. She had absolutely no redress. Hershow pupil had melted into nothingness, leaving only a friendless, beggared little girl. Such money as she herself had advanced was lostand could not be regained. 

And as she stood there breathless under her sense of injury, there fellupon her ears a burst of gay voices from her own sacred room, which hadactually been given up to the feast. She could at least stop this. 

But as she started toward the door it was opened by Miss Amelia, who, when she caught sight of the changed, angry face, fell back a step inalarm. 

"What IS the matter, sister?" she ejaculated. 

Miss Minchin's voice was almost fierce when she answered:

"Where is Sara Crewe?"

Miss Amelia was bewildered. 

"Sara!" she stammered. "Why, she's with the children in your room, ofcourse. "

"Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe?"--in bitter irony. 

"A black frock?" Miss Amelia stammered again. "A BLACK one?"

"She has frocks of every other color. Has she a black one?"

Miss Amelia began to turn pale. 

"No--ye-es!" she said. "But it is too short for her. She has only theold black velvet, and she has outgrown it. "

"Go and tell her to take off that preposterous pink silk gauze, and putthe black one on, whether it is too short or not. She has done withfinery!"

Then Miss Amelia began to wring her fat hands and cry. 

"Oh, sister!" she sniffed. "Oh, sister! What CAN have happened?"

Miss Minchin wasted no words. 

"Captain Crewe is dead, " she said. "He has died without a penny. Thatspoiled, pampered, fanciful child is left a pauper on my hands. "

Miss Amelia sat down quite heavily in the nearest chair. 

"Hundreds of pounds have I spent on nonsense for her. And I shallnever see a penny of it. Put a stop to this ridiculous party of hers. Go and make her change her frock at once. "

"I?" panted Miss Amelia. "M-must I go and tell her now?"

"This moment!" was the fierce answer. "Don't sit staring like a goose. Go!"

Poor Miss Amelia was accustomed to being called a goose. She knew, infact, that she was rather a goose, and that it was left to geese to doa great many disagreeable things. It was a somewhat embarrassing thingto go into the midst of a room full of delighted children, and tell thegiver of the feast that she had suddenly been transformed into a littlebeggar, and must go upstairs and put on an old black frock which wastoo small for her. But the thing must be done. This was evidently notthe time when questions might be asked. 

She rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief until they looked quite red. After which she got up and went out of the room, without venturing tosay another word. When her older sister looked and spoke as she haddone just now, the wisest course to pursue was to obey orders withoutany comment. Miss Minchin walked across the room. She spoke to herselfaloud without knowing that she was doing it. During the last year thestory of the diamond mines had suggested all sorts of possibilities toher. Even proprietors of seminaries might make fortunes in stocks, with the aid of owners of mines. And now, instead of looking forward togains, she was left to look back upon losses. 

"The Princess Sara, indeed!" she said. "The child has been pampered asif she were a QUEEN. " She was sweeping angrily past the corner table asshe said it, and the next moment she started at the sound of a loud, sobbing sniff which issued from under the cover. 

"What is that!" she exclaimed angrily. The loud, sobbing sniff washeard again, and she stooped and raised the hanging folds of the tablecover. 

"How DARE you!" she cried out. "How dare you! Come out immediately!"

It was poor Becky who crawled out, and her cap was knocked on one side, and her face was red with repressed crying. 

"If you please, 'm--it's me, mum, " she explained. "I know I hadn'tought to. But I was lookin' at the doll, mum--an' I was frightenedwhen you come in--an' slipped under the table. "

"You have been there all the time, listening, " said Miss Minchin. 

"No, mum, " Becky protested, bobbing curtsies. "Not listenin'--Ithought I could slip out without your noticin', but I couldn't an' Ihad to stay. But I didn't listen, mum--I wouldn't for nothin'. But Icouldn't help hearin'. "

Suddenly it seemed almost as if she lost all fear of the awful ladybefore her. She burst into fresh tears. 

"Oh, please, 'm, " she said; "I dare say you'll give me warnin, mum--butI'm so sorry for poor Miss Sara--I'm so sorry!"

"Leave the room!" ordered Miss Minchin. 

Becky curtsied again, the tears openly streaming down her cheeks. 

"Yes, 'm; I will, 'm, " she said, trembling; "but oh, I just wanted toarst you: Miss Sara--she's been such a rich young lady, an' she's beenwaited on, 'and and foot; an' what will she do now, mum, without nomaid? If--if, oh please, would you let me wait on her after I've donemy pots an' kettles? I'd do 'em that quick--if you'd let me wait onher now she's poor. Oh, " breaking out afresh, "poor little Miss Sara, mum--that was called a princess. "

Somehow, she made Miss Minchin feel more angry than ever. That thevery scullery maid should range herself on the side of this child--whomshe realized more fully than ever that she had never liked--was toomuch. She actually stamped her foot. 

"No--certainly not, " she said. "She will wait on herself, and on otherpeople, too. Leave the room this instant, or you'll leave your place. "

Becky threw her apron over her head and fled. She ran out of the roomand down the steps into the scullery, and there she sat down among herpots and kettles, and wept as if her heart would break. 

"It's exactly like the ones in the stories, " she wailed. "Them poreprincess ones that was drove into the world. "

Miss Minchin had never looked quite so still and hard as she did whenSara came to her, a few hours later, in response to a message she hadsent her. 

Even by that time it seemed to Sara as if the birthday party had eitherbeen a dream or a thing which had happened years ago, and had happenedin the life of quite another little girl. 

Every sign of the festivities had been swept away; the holly had beenremoved from the schoolroom walls, and the forms and desks put backinto their places. Miss Minchin's sitting room looked as it alwaysdid--all traces of the feast were gone, and Miss Minchin had resumedher usual dress. The pupils had been ordered to lay aside their partyfrocks; and this having been done, they had returned to the schoolroomand huddled together in groups, whispering and talking excitedly. 

"Tell Sara to come to my room, " Miss Minchin had said to her sister. "And explain to her clearly that I will have no crying or unpleasantscenes. "

"Sister, " replied Miss Amelia, "she is the strangest child I ever saw. She has actually made no fuss at all. You remember she made none whenCaptain Crewe went back to India. When I told her what had happened, she just stood quite still and looked at me without making a sound. Her eyes seemed to get bigger and bigger, and she went quite pale. When I had finished, she still stood staring for a few seconds, andthen her chin began to shake, and she turned round and ran out of theroom and upstairs. Several of the other children began to cry, but shedid not seem to hear them or to be alive to anything but just what Iwas saying. It made me feel quite queer not to be answered; and whenyou tell anything sudden and strange, you expect people will saySOMETHING--whatever it is. "

Nobody but Sara herself ever knew what had happened in her room aftershe had run upstairs and locked her door. In fact, she herselfscarcely remembered anything but that she walked up and down, sayingover and over again to herself in a voice which did not seem her own, "My papa is dead! My papa is dead!"

Once she stopped before Emily, who sat watching her from her chair, andcried out wildly, "Emily! Do you hear? Do you hear--papa is dead? Heis dead in India--thousands of miles away. "

When she came into Miss Minchin's sitting room in answer to hersummons, her face was white and her eyes had dark rings around them. Her mouth was set as if she did not wish it to reveal what she hadsuffered and was suffering. She did not look in the least like therose-colored butterfly child who had flown about from one of hertreasures to the other in the decorated schoolroom. She looked insteada strange, desolate, almost grotesque little figure. 

She had put on, without Mariette's help, the cast-aside black-velvetfrock. It was too short and tight, and her slender legs looked longand thin, showing themselves from beneath the brief skirt. As she hadnot found a piece of black ribbon, her short, thick, black hair tumbledloosely about her face and contrasted strongly with its pallor. Sheheld Emily tightly in one arm, and Emily was swathed in a piece ofblack material. 

"Put down your doll, " said Miss Minchin. "What do you mean by bringingher here?"

"No, " Sara answered. "I will not put her down. She is all I have. Mypapa gave her to me. "

She had always made Miss Minchin feel secretly uncomfortable, and shedid so now. She did not speak with rudeness so much as with a coldsteadiness with which Miss Minchin felt it difficult to cope--perhapsbecause she knew she was doing a heartless and inhuman thing. 

"You will have no time for dolls in future, " she said. "You will haveto work and improve yourself and make yourself useful. "

Sara kept her big, strange eyes fixed on her, and said not a word. 

"Everything will be very different now, " Miss Minchin went on. "Isuppose Miss Amelia has explained matters to you. "

"Yes, " answered Sara. "My papa is dead. He left me no money. I amquite poor. "

"You are a beggar, " said Miss Minchin, her temper rising at therecollection of what all this meant. "It appears that you have norelations and no home, and no one to take care of you. "

For a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Sara again saidnothing. 

"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Minchin, sharply. "Are you sostupid that you cannot understand? I tell you that you are quite alonein the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I chooseto keep you here out of charity. "

"I understand, " answered Sara, in a low tone; and there was a sound asif she had gulped down something which rose in her throat. "Iunderstand. "

"That doll, " cried Miss Minchin, pointing to the splendid birthday giftseated near--"that ridiculous doll, with all her nonsensical, extravagant things--I actually paid the bill for her!"

Sara turned her head toward the chair. 

"The Last Doll, " she said. "The Last Doll. " And her little mournfulvoice had an odd sound. 

"The Last Doll, indeed!" said Miss Minchin. "And she is mine, notyours. Everything you own is mine. "

"Please take it away from me, then, " said Sara. "I do not want it. "

If she had cried and sobbed and seemed frightened, Miss Minchin mightalmost have had more patience with her. She was a woman who liked todomineer and feel her power, and as she looked at Sara's pale littlesteadfast face and heard her proud little voice, she quite felt as ifher might was being set at naught. 

"Don't put on grand airs, " she said. "The time for that sort of thingis past. You are not a princess any longer. Your carriage and yourpony will be sent away--your maid will be dismissed. You will wear youroldest and plainest clothes--your extravagant ones are no longer suitedto your station. You are like Becky--you must work for your living. "

To her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the child's eyes--ashade of relief. 

"Can I work?" she said. "If I can work it will not matter so much. What can I do?"

"You can do anything you are told, " was the answer. "You are a sharpchild, and pick up things readily. If you make yourself useful I maylet you stay here. You speak French well, and you can help with theyounger children. "

"May I?" exclaimed Sara. "Oh, please let me! I know I can teach them. I like them, and they like me. "

"Don't talk nonsense about people liking you, " said Miss Minchin. "Youwill have to do more than teach the little ones. You will run errandsand help in the kitchen as well as in the schoolroom. If you don'tplease me, you will be sent away. Remember that. Now go. "

Sara stood still just a moment, looking at her. In her young soul, shewas thinking deep and strange things. Then she turned to leave theroom. 

"Stop!" said Miss Minchin. "Don't you intend to thank me?"

Sara paused, and all the deep, strange thoughts surged up in her breast. 

"What for?" she said. 

"For my kindness to you, " replied Miss Minchin. "For my kindness ingiving you a home. "

Sara made two or three steps toward her. Her thin little chest heavedup and down, and she spoke in a strange un-childishly fierce way. 

"You are not kind, " she said. "You are NOT kind, and it is NOT ahome. " And she had turned and run out of the room before Miss Minchincould stop her or do anything but stare after her with stony anger. 

She went up the stairs slowly, but panting for breath and she heldEmily tightly against her side. 

"I wish she could talk, " she said to herself. "If she could speak--ifshe could speak!"

She meant to go to her room and lie down on the tiger-skin, with hercheek upon the great cat's head, and look into the fire and think andthink and think. But just before she reached the landing Miss Ameliacame out of the door and closed it behind her, and stood before it, looking nervous and awkward. The truth was that she felt secretlyashamed of the thing she had been ordered to do. 

"You--you are not to go in there, " she said. 

"Not go in?" exclaimed Sara, and she fell back a pace. 

"That is not your room now, " Miss Amelia answered, reddening a little. 

Somehow, all at once, Sara understood. She realized that this was thebeginning of the change Miss Minchin had spoken of. 

"Where is my room?" she asked, hoping very much that her voice did notshake. 

"You are to sleep in the attic next to Becky. "

Sara knew where it was. Becky had told her about it. She turned, andmounted up two flights of stairs. The last one was narrow, and coveredwith shabby strips of old carpet. She felt as if she were walking awayand leaving far behind her the world in which that other child, who nolonger seemed herself, had lived. This child, in her short, tight oldfrock, climbing the stairs to the attic, was quite a different creature. 

When she reached the attic door and opened it, her heart gave a drearylittle thump. Then she shut the door and stood against it and lookedabout her. 

Yes, this was another world. The room had a slanting roof and waswhitewashed. The whitewash was dingy and had fallen off in places. There was a rusty grate, an old iron bedstead, and a hard bed coveredwith a faded coverlet. Some pieces of furniture too much worn to beused downstairs had been sent up. Under the skylight in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, there stoodan old battered red footstool. Sara went to it and sat down. Sheseldom cried. She did not cry now. She laid Emily across her kneesand put her face down upon her and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black head resting on the black draperies, not saying oneword, not making one sound. 

And as she sat in this silence there came a low tap at the door--such alow, humble one that she did not at first hear it, and, indeed, was notroused until the door was timidly pushed open and a poor tear-smearedface appeared peeping round it. It was Becky's face, and Becky hadbeen crying furtively for hours and rubbing her eyes with her kitchenapron until she looked strange indeed. 

"Oh, miss, " she said under her breath. "Might I--would you allowme--jest to come in?"

Sara lifted her head and looked at her. She tried to begin a smile, and somehow she could not. Suddenly--and it was all through the lovingmournfulness of Becky's streaming eyes--her face looked more like achild's not so much too old for her years. She held out her hand andgave a little sob. 

"Oh, Becky, " she said. "I told you we were just the same--only twolittle girls--just two little girls. You see how true it is. There'sno difference now. I'm not a princess anymore. "

Becky ran to her and caught her hand, and hugged it to her breast, kneeling beside her and sobbing with love and pain. 

"Yes, miss, you are, " she cried, and her words were all broken. "Whats'ever 'appens to you--whats'ever--you'd be a princess all thesame--an' nothin' couldn't make you nothin' different. "

8

In the Attic

The first night she spent in her attic was a thing Sara never forgot. During its passing she lived through a wild, unchildlike woe of whichshe never spoke to anyone about her. There was no one who would haveunderstood. It was, indeed, well for her that as she lay awake in thedarkness her mind was forcibly distracted, now and then, by thestrangeness of her surroundings. It was, perhaps, well for her thatshe was reminded by her small body of material things. If this had notbeen so, the anguish of her young mind might have been too great for achild to bear. But, really, while the night was passing she scarcelyknew that she had a body at all or remembered any other thing than one. 

"My papa is dead!" she kept whispering to herself. "My papa is dead!"

It was not until long afterward that she realized that her bed had beenso hard that she turned over and over in it to find a place to rest, that the darkness seemed more intense than any she had ever known, andthat the wind howled over the roof among the chimneys like somethingwhich wailed aloud. Then there was something worse. This was certainscufflings and scratchings and squeakings in the walls and behind theskirting boards. She knew what they meant, because Becky had describedthem. They meant rats and mice who were either fighting with eachother or playing together. Once or twice she even heard sharp-toed feetscurrying across the floor, and she remembered in those after days, when she recalled things, that when first she heard them she started upin bed and sat trembling, and when she lay down again covered her headwith the bedclothes. 

The change in her life did not come about gradually, but was made allat once. 

"She must begin as she is to go on, " Miss Minchin said to Miss Amelia. "She must be taught at once what she is to expect. "

Mariette had left the house the next morning. The glimpse Sara caughtof her sitting room, as she passed its open door, showed her thateverything had been changed. Her ornaments and luxuries had beenremoved, and a bed had been placed in a corner to transform it into anew pupil's bedroom. 

When she went down to breakfast she saw that her seat at Miss Minchin'sside was occupied by Lavinia, and Miss Minchin spoke to her coldly. 

"You will begin your new duties, Sara, " she said, "by taking your seatwith the younger children at a smaller table. You must keep themquiet, and see that they behave well and do not waste their food. Youought to have been down earlier. Lottie has already upset her tea. "

That was the beginning, and from day to day the duties given to herwere added to. She taught the younger children French and heard theirother lessons, and these were the least of her labors. It was foundthat she could be made use of in numberless directions. She could besent on errands at any time and in all weathers. She could be told todo things other people neglected. The cook and the housemaids tooktheir tone from Miss Minchin, and rather enjoyed ordering about the"young one" who had been made so much fuss over for so long. They werenot servants of the best class, and had neither good manners nor goodtempers, and it was frequently convenient to have at hand someone onwhom blame could be laid. 

During the first month or two, Sara thought that her willingness to dothings as well as she could, and her silence under reproof, mightsoften those who drove her so hard. In her proud little heart shewanted them to see that she was trying to earn her living and notaccepting charity. But the time came when she saw that no one wassoftened at all; and the more willing she was to do as she was told, the more domineering and exacting careless housemaids became, and themore ready a scolding cook was to blame her. 

If she had been older, Miss Minchin would have given her the biggergirls to teach and saved money by dismissing an instructress; but whileshe remained and looked like a child, she could be made more useful asa sort of little superior errand girl and maid of all work. An ordinaryerrand boy would not have been so clever and reliable. Sara could betrusted with difficult commissions and complicated messages. She couldeven go and pay bills, and she combined with this the ability to dust aroom well and to set things in order. 

Her own lessons became things of the past. She was taught nothing, andonly after long and busy days spent in running here and there ateverybody's orders was she grudgingly allowed to go into the desertedschoolroom, with a pile of old books, and study alone at night. 

"If I do not remind myself of the things I have learned, perhaps I mayforget them, " she said to herself. "I am almost a scullery maid, andif I am a scullery maid who knows nothing, I shall be like poor Becky. I wonder if I could QUITE forget and begin to drop my H'S and notremember that Henry the Eighth had six wives. "

One of the most curious things in her new existence was her changedposition among the pupils. Instead of being a sort of small royalpersonage among them, she no longer seemed to be one of their number atall. She was kept so constantly at work that she scarcely ever had anopportunity of speaking to any of them, and she could not avoid seeingthat Miss Minchin preferred that she should live a life apart from thatof the occupants of the schoolroom. 

"I will not have her forming intimacies and talking to the otherchildren, " that lady said. "Girls like a grievance, and if she beginsto tell romantic stories about herself, she will become an ill-usedheroine, and parents will be given a wrong impression. It is betterthat she should live a separate life--one suited to her circumstances. I am giving her a home, and that is more than she has any right toexpect from me. "

Sara did not expect much, and was far too proud to try to continue tobe intimate with girls who evidently felt rather awkward and uncertainabout her. The fact was that Miss Minchin's pupils were a set of dull, matter-of-fact young people. They were accustomed to being rich andcomfortable, and as Sara's frocks grew shorter and shabbier andqueerer-looking, and it became an established fact that she wore shoeswith holes in them and was sent out to buy groceries and carry themthrough the streets in a basket on her arm when the cook wanted them ina hurry, they felt rather as if, when they spoke to her, they wereaddressing an under servant. 

"To think that she was the girl with the diamond mines, " Laviniacommented. "She does look an object. And she's queerer than ever. Inever liked her much, but I can't bear that way she has now of lookingat people without speaking--just as if she was finding them out. "

"I am, " said Sara, promptly, when she heard of this. "That's what Ilook at some people for. I like to know about them. I think them overafterward. "

The truth was that she had saved herself annoyance several times bykeeping her eye on Lavinia, who was quite ready to make mischief, andwould have been rather pleased to have made it for the ex-show pupil. 

Sara never made any mischief herself, or interfered with anyone. Sheworked like a drudge; she tramped through the wet streets, carryingparcels and baskets; she labored with the childish inattention of thelittle ones' French lessons; as she became shabbier and moreforlorn-looking, she was told that she had better take her mealsdownstairs; she was treated as if she was nobody's concern, and herheart grew proud and sore, but she never told anyone what she felt. 

"Soldiers don't complain, " she would say between her small, shut teeth, "I am not going to do it; I will pretend this is part of a war. "

But there were hours when her child heart might almost have broken withloneliness but for three people. 

The first, it must be owned, was Becky--just Becky. Throughout allthat first night spent in the garret, she had felt a vague comfort inknowing that on the other side of the wall in which the rats scuffledand squeaked there was another young human creature. And during thenights that followed the sense of comfort grew. They had little chanceto speak to each other during the day. Each had her own tasks toperform, and any attempt at conversation would have been regarded as atendency to loiter and lose time. "Don't mind me, miss, " Beckywhispered during the first morning, "if I don't say nothin' polite. Some un'd be down on us if I did. I MEANS 'please' an' 'thank you' an''beg pardon, ' but I dassn't to take time to say it. "

But before daybreak she used to slip into Sara's attic and button herdress and give her such help as she required before she went downstairsto light the kitchen fire. And when night came Sara always heard thehumble knock at her door which meant that her handmaid was ready tohelp her again if she was needed. During the first weeks of her griefSara felt as if she were too stupefied to talk, so it happened thatsome time passed before they saw each other much or exchanged visits. Becky's heart told her that it was best that people in trouble shouldbe left alone. 

The second of the trio of comforters was Ermengarde, but odd thingshappened before Ermengarde found her place. 

When Sara's mind seemed to awaken again to the life about her, sherealized that she had forgotten that an Ermengarde lived in the world. The two had always been friends, but Sara had felt as if she were yearsthe older. It could not be contested that Ermengarde was as dull asshe was affectionate. She clung to Sara in a simple, helpless way; shebrought her lessons to her that she might be helped; she listened toher every word and besieged her with requests for stories. But she hadnothing interesting to say herself, and she loathed books of everydescription. She was, in fact, not a person one would remember whenone was caught in the storm of a great trouble, and Sara forgot her. 

It had been all the easier to forget her because she had been suddenlycalled home for a few weeks. When she came back she did not see Sarafor a day or two, and when she met her for the first time sheencountered her coming down a corridor with her arms full of garmentswhich were to be taken downstairs to be mended. Sara herself hadalready been taught to mend them. She looked pale and unlike herself, and she was attired in the queer, outgrown frock whose shortness showedso much thin black leg. 

Ermengarde was too slow a girl to be equal to such a situation. Shecould not think of anything to say. She knew what had happened, but, somehow, she had never imagined Sara could look like this--so odd andpoor and almost like a servant. It made her quite miserable, and shecould do nothing but break into a short hysterical laugh andexclaim--aimlessly and as if without any meaning, "Oh, Sara, is thatyou?"

"Yes, " answered Sara, and suddenly a strange thought passed through hermind and made her face flush. She held the pile of garments in herarms, and her chin rested upon the top of it to keep it steady. Something in the look of her straight-gazing eyes made Ermengarde loseher wits still more. She felt as if Sara had changed into a new kindof girl, and she had never known her before. Perhaps it was because shehad suddenly grown poor and had to mend things and work like Becky. 

"Oh, " she stammered. "How--how are you?"

"I don't know, " Sara replied. "How are you?"

"I'm--I'm quite well, " said Ermengarde, overwhelmed with shyness. Thenspasmodically she thought of something to say which seemed moreintimate. "Are you--are you very unhappy?" she said in a rush. 

Then Sara was guilty of an injustice. Just at that moment her tornheart swelled within her, and she felt that if anyone was as stupid asthat, one had better get away from her. 

"What do you think?" she said. "Do you think I am very happy?" And shemarched past her without another word. 

In course of time she realized that if her wretchedness had not madeher forget things, she would have known that poor, dull Ermengarde wasnot to be blamed for her unready, awkward ways. She was alwaysawkward, and the more she felt, the more stupid she was given to being. 

But the sudden thought which had flashed upon her had made herover-sensitive. 

"She is like the others, " she had thought. "She does not really wantto talk to me. She knows no one does. "

So for several weeks a barrier stood between them. When they met bychance Sara looked the other way, and Ermengarde felt too stiff andembarrassed to speak. Sometimes they nodded to each other in passing, but there were times when they did not even exchange a greeting. 

"If she would rather not talk to me, " Sara thought, "I will keep out ofher way. Miss Minchin makes that easy enough. "

Miss Minchin made it so easy that at last they scarcely saw each otherat all. At that time it was noticed that Ermengarde was more stupidthan ever, and that she looked listless and unhappy. She used to sitin the window-seat, huddled in a heap, and stare out of the windowwithout speaking. Once Jessie, who was passing, stopped to look at hercuriously. 

"What are you crying for, Ermengarde?" she asked. 

"I'm not crying, " answered Ermengarde, in a muffled, unsteady voice. 

"You are, " said Jessie. "A great big tear just rolled down the bridgeof your nose and dropped off at the end of it. And there goes another. "

"Well, " said Ermengarde, "I'm miserable--and no one need interfere. "And she turned her plump back and took out her handkerchief and boldlyhid her face in it. 

That night, when Sara went to her attic, she was later than usual. Shehad been kept at work until after the hour at which the pupils went tobed, and after that she had gone to her lessons in the lonelyschoolroom. When she reached the top of the stairs, she was surprisedto see a glimmer of light coming from under the attic door. 

"Nobody goes there but myself, " she thought quickly, "but someone haslighted a candle. "

Someone had, indeed, lighted a candle, and it was not burning in thekitchen candlestick she was expected to use, but in one of thosebelonging to the pupils' bedrooms. The someone was sitting upon thebattered footstool, and was dressed in her nightgown and wrapped up ina red shawl. It was Ermengarde. 

"Ermengarde!" cried Sara. She was so startled that she was almostfrightened. "You will get into trouble. "

Ermengarde stumbled up from her footstool. She shuffled across theattic in her bedroom slippers, which were too large for her. Her eyesand nose were pink with crying. 

"I know I shall--if I'm found out. " she said. "But I don't care--Idon't care a bit. Oh, Sara, please tell me. What is the matter? Whydon't you like me any more?"

Something in her voice made the familiar lump rise in Sara's throat. Itwas so affectionate and simple--so like the old Ermengarde who hadasked her to be "best friends. " It sounded as if she had not meantwhat she had seemed to mean during these past weeks. 

"I do like you, " Sara answered. "I thought--you see, everything isdifferent now. I thought you--were different. "

Ermengarde opened her wet eyes wide. 

"Why, it was you who were different!" she cried. "You didn't want totalk to me. I didn't know what to do. It was you who were differentafter I came back. "

Sara thought a moment. She saw she had made a mistake. 

"I AM different, " she explained, "though not in the way you think. MissMinchin does not want me to talk to the girls. Most of them don't wantto talk to me. I thought--perhaps--you didn't. So I tried to keep outof your way. "

"Oh, Sara, " Ermengarde almost wailed in her reproachful dismay. Andthen after one more look they rushed into each other's arms. It mustbe confessed that Sara's small black head lay for some minutes on theshoulder covered by the red shawl. When Ermengarde had seemed todesert her, she had felt horribly lonely. 

Afterward they sat down upon the floor together, Sara clasping herknees with her arms, and Ermengarde rolled up in her shawl. Ermengardelooked at the odd, big-eyed little face adoringly. 

"I couldn't bear it any more, " she said. "I dare say you could livewithout me, Sara; but I couldn't live without you. I was nearly DEAD. So tonight, when I was crying under the bedclothes, I thought all atonce of creeping up here and just begging you to let us be friendsagain. "

"You are nicer than I am, " said Sara. "I was too proud to try and makefriends. You see, now that trials have come, they have shown that I amNOT a nice child. I was afraid they would. Perhaps"--wrinkling herforehead wisely--"that is what they were sent for. "

"I don't see any good in them, " said Ermengarde stoutly. 

"Neither do I--to speak the truth, " admitted Sara, frankly. "But Isuppose there MIGHT be good in things, even if we don't see it. ThereMIGHT"--DOUBTFULLY--"Be good in Miss Minchin. "

Ermengarde looked round the attic with a rather fearsome curiosity. 

"Sara, " she said, "do you think you can bear living here?"

Sara looked round also. 

"If I pretend it's quite different, I can, " she answered; "or if Ipretend it is a place in a story. "

She spoke slowly. Her imagination was beginning to work for her. Ithad not worked for her at all since her troubles had come upon her. Shehad felt as if it had been stunned. 

"Other people have lived in worse places. Think of the Count of MonteCristo in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If. And think of the people inthe Bastille!"

"The Bastille, " half whispered Ermengarde, watching her and beginningto be fascinated. She remembered stories of the French Revolutionwhich Sara had been able to fix in her mind by her dramatic relation ofthem. No one but Sara could have done it. 

A well-known glow came into Sara's eyes. 

"Yes, " she said, hugging her knees, "that will be a good place topretend about. I am a prisoner in the Bastille. I have been here foryears and years--and years; and everybody has forgotten about me. MissMinchin is the jailer--and Becky"--a sudden light adding itself to theglow in her eyes--"Becky is the prisoner in the next cell. "

She turned to Ermengarde, looking quite like the old Sara. 

"I shall pretend that, " she said; "and it will be a great comfort. "

Ermengarde was at once enraptured and awed. 

"And will you tell me all about it?" she said. "May I creep up here atnight, whenever it is safe, and hear the things you have made up in theday? It will seem as if we were more 'best friends' than ever. "

"Yes, " answered Sara, nodding. "Adversity tries people, and mine hastried you and proved how nice you are. "

9

Melchisedec

The third person in the trio was Lottie. She was a small thing and didnot know what adversity meant, and was much bewildered by thealteration she saw in her young adopted mother. She had heard itrumored that strange things had happened to Sara, but she could notunderstand why she looked different--why she wore an old black frockand came into the schoolroom only to teach instead of to sit in herplace of honor and learn lessons herself. There had been muchwhispering among the little ones when it had been discovered that Sarano longer lived in the rooms in which Emily had so long sat in state. Lottie's chief difficulty was that Sara said so little when one askedher questions. At seven mysteries must be made very clear if one is tounderstand them. 

"Are you very poor now, Sara?" she had asked confidentially the firstmorning her friend took charge of the small French class. "Are you aspoor as a beggar?" She thrust a fat hand into the slim one and openedround, tearful eyes. "I don't want you to be as poor as a beggar. "

She looked as if she was going to cry. And Sara hurriedly consoled her. 

"Beggars have nowhere to live, " she said courageously. "I have a placeto live in. "

"Where do you live?" persisted Lottie. "The new girl sleeps in yourroom, and it isn't pretty any more. "

"I live in another room, " said Sara. 

"Is it a nice one?" inquired Lottie. "I want to go and see it. "

"You must not talk, " said Sara. "Miss Minchin is looking at us. Shewill be angry with me for letting you whisper. "

She had found out already that she was to be held accountable foreverything which was objected to. If the children were not attentive, if they talked, if they were restless, it was she who would be reproved. 

But Lottie was a determined little person. If Sara would not tell herwhere she lived, she would find out in some other way. She talked toher small companions and hung about the elder girls and listened whenthey were gossiping; and acting upon certain information they hadunconsciously let drop, she started late one afternoon on a voyage ofdiscovery, climbing stairs she had never known the existence of, untilshe reached the attic floor. There she found two doors near each other, and opening one, she saw her beloved Sara standing upon an old tableand looking out of a window. 

"Sara!" she cried, aghast. "Mamma Sara!" She was aghast because theattic was so bare and ugly and seemed so far away from all the world. Her short legs had seemed to have been mounting hundreds of stairs. 

Sara turned round at the sound of her voice. It was her turn to beaghast. What would happen now? If Lottie began to cry and any onechanced to hear, they were both lost. She jumped down from her tableand ran to the child. 

"Don't cry and make a noise, " she implored. "I shall be scolded if youdo, and I have been scolded all day. It's--it's not such a bad room, Lottie. "

"Isn't it?" gasped Lottie, and as she looked round it she bit her lip. She was a spoiled child yet, but she was fond enough of her adoptedparent to make an effort to control herself for her sake. Then, somehow, it was quite possible that any place in which Sara lived mightturn out to be nice. "Why isn't it, Sara?" she almost whispered. 

Sara hugged her close and tried to laugh. There was a sort of comfortin the warmth of the plump, childish body. She had had a hard day andhad been staring out of the windows with hot eyes. 

"You can see all sorts of things you can't see downstairs, " she said. 

"What sort of things?" demanded Lottie, with that curiosity Sara couldalways awaken even in bigger girls. 

"Chimneys--quite close to us--with smoke curling up in wreaths andclouds and going up into the sky--and sparrows hopping about andtalking to each other just as if they were people--and other atticwindows where heads may pop out any minute and you can wonder who theybelong to. And it all feels as high up--as if it was another world. "

"Oh, let me see it!" cried Lottie. "Lift me up!"

Sara lifted her up, and they stood on the old table together and leanedon the edge of the flat window in the roof, and looked out. 

Anyone who has not done this does not know what a different world theysaw. The slates spread out on either side of them and slanted downinto the rain gutter-pipes. The sparrows, being at home there, twittered and hopped about quite without fear. Two of them perched onthe chimney top nearest and quarrelled with each other fiercely untilone pecked the other and drove him away. The garret window next totheirs was shut because the house next door was empty. 

"I wish someone lived there, " Sara said. "It is so close that if therewas a little girl in the attic, we could talk to each other through thewindows and climb over to see each other, if we were not afraid offalling. "

The sky seemed so much nearer than when one saw it from the street, that Lottie was enchanted. From the attic window, among the chimneypots, the things which were happening in the world below seemed almostunreal. One scarcely believed in the existence of Miss Minchin andMiss Amelia and the schoolroom, and the roll of wheels in the squareseemed a sound belonging to another existence. 

"Oh, Sara!" cried Lottie, cuddling in her guarding arm. "I like thisattic--I like it! It is nicer than downstairs!"

"Look at that sparrow, " whispered Sara. "I wish I had some crumbs tothrow to him. "

"I have some!" came in a little shriek from Lottie. "I have part of abun in my pocket; I bought it with my penny yesterday, and I saved abit. "

When they threw out a few crumbs the sparrow jumped and flew away to anadjacent chimney top. He was evidently not accustomed to intimates inattics, and unexpected crumbs startled him. But when Lottie remainedquite still and Sara chirped very softly--almost as if she were asparrow herself--he saw that the thing which had alarmed himrepresented hospitality, after all. He put his head on one side, andfrom his perch on the chimney looked down at the crumbs with twinklingeyes. Lottie could scarcely keep still. 

"Will he come? Will he come?" she whispered. 

"His eyes look as if he would, " Sara whispered back. "He is thinkingand thinking whether he dare. Yes, he will! Yes, he is coming!"

He flew down and hopped toward the crumbs, but stopped a few inchesaway from them, putting his head on one side again, as if reflecting onthe chances that Sara and Lottie might turn out to be big cats and jumpon him. At last his heart told him they were really nicer than theylooked, and he hopped nearer and nearer, darted at the biggest crumbwith a lightning peck, seized it, and carried it away to the other sideof his chimney. 

"Now he KNOWS", said Sara. "And he will come back for the others. "

He did come back, and even brought a friend, and the friend went awayand brought a relative, and among them they made a hearty meal overwhich they twittered and chattered and exclaimed, stopping every nowand then to put their heads on one side and examine Lottie and Sara. Lottie was so delighted that she quite forgot her first shockedimpression of the attic. In fact, when she was lifted down from thetable and returned to earthly things, as it were, Sara was able topoint out to her many beauties in the room which she herself would nothave suspected the existence of. 

"It is so little and so high above everything, " she said, "that it isalmost like a nest in a tree. The slanting ceiling is so funny. See, you can scarcely stand up at this end of the room; and when the morningbegins to come I can lie in bed and look right up into the sky throughthat flat window in the roof. It is like a square patch of light. Ifthe sun is going to shine, little pink clouds float about, and I feelas if I could touch them. And if it rains, the drops patter and patteras if they were saying something nice. Then if there are stars, youcan lie and try to count how many go into the patch. It takes such alot. And just look at that tiny, rusty grate in the corner. If it waspolished and there was a fire in it, just think how nice it would be. You see, it's really a beautiful little room. "

She was walking round the small place, holding Lottie's hand and makinggestures which described all the beauties she was making herself see. She quite made Lottie see them, too. Lottie could always believe inthe things Sara made pictures of. 

"You see, " she said, "there could be a thick, soft blue Indian rug onthe floor; and in that corner there could be a soft little sofa, withcushions to curl up on; and just over it could be a shelf full of booksso that one could reach them easily; and there could be a fur rugbefore the fire, and hangings on the wall to cover up the whitewash, and pictures. They would have to be little ones, but they could bebeautiful; and there could be a lamp with a deep rose-colored shade;and a table in the middle, with things to have tea with; and a littlefat copper kettle singing on the hob; and the bed could be quitedifferent. It could be made soft and covered with a lovely silkcoverlet. It could be beautiful. And perhaps we could coax thesparrows until we made such friends with them that they would come andpeck at the window and ask to be let in. "

"Oh, Sara!" cried Lottie. "I should like to live here!"

When Sara had persuaded her to go downstairs again, and, after settingher on her way, had come back to her attic, she stood in the middle ofit and looked about her. The enchantment of her imaginings for Lottiehad died away. The bed was hard and covered with its dingy quilt. Thewhitewashed wall showed its broken patches, the floor was cold andbare, the grate was broken and rusty, and the battered footstool, tilted sideways on its injured leg, the only seat in the room. She satdown on it for a few minutes and let her head drop in her hands. Themere fact that Lottie had come and gone away again made things seem alittle worse--just as perhaps prisoners feel a little more desolateafter visitors come and go, leaving them behind. 

"It's a lonely place, " she said. "Sometimes it's the loneliest placein the world. "

She was sitting in this way when her attention was attracted by aslight sound near her. She lifted her head to see where it came from, and if she had been a nervous child she would have left her seat on thebattered footstool in a great hurry. A large rat was sitting up on hishind quarters and sniffing the air in an interested manner. Some ofLottie's crumbs had dropped upon the floor and their scent had drawnhim out of his hole. 

He looked so queer and so like a gray-whiskered dwarf or gnome thatSara was rather fascinated. He looked at her with his bright eyes, asif he were asking a question. He was evidently so doubtful that one ofthe child's queer thoughts came into her mind. 

"I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat, " she mused. "Nobody likesyou. People jump and run away and scream out, 'Oh, a horrid rat!' Ishouldn't like people to scream and jump and say, 'Oh, a horrid Sara!'the moment they saw me. And set traps for me, and pretend they weredinner. It's so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this ratif he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said, 'Wouldn't yourather be a sparrow?'"

She had sat so quietly that the rat had begun to take courage. He wasvery much afraid of her, but perhaps he had a heart like the sparrowand it told him that she was not a thing which pounced. He was veryhungry. He had a wife and a large family in the wall, and they had hadfrightfully bad luck for several days. He had left the children cryingbitterly, and felt he would risk a good deal for a few crumbs, so hecautiously dropped upon his feet. 

"Come on, " said Sara; "I'm not a trap. You can have them, poor thing!Prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats. Suppose Imake friends with you. "

How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it iscertain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language which isnot made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhapsthere is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, withouteven making a sound, to another soul. But whatsoever was the reason, the rat knew from that moment that he was safe--even though he was arat. He knew that this young human being sitting on the red footstoolwould not jump up and terrify him with wild, sharp noises or throwheavy objects at him which, if they did not fall and crush him, wouldsend him limping in his scurry back to his hole. He was really a verynice rat, and did not mean the least harm. When he had stood on hishind legs and sniffed the air, with his bright eyes fixed on Sara, hehad hoped that she would understand this, and would not begin by hatinghim as an enemy. When the mysterious thing which speaks without sayingany words told him that she would not, he went softly toward the crumbsand began to eat them. As he did it he glanced every now and then atSara, just as the sparrows had done, and his expression was so veryapologetic that it touched her heart. 

She sat and watched him without making any movement. One crumb wasvery much larger than the others--in fact, it could scarcely be calleda crumb. It was evident that he wanted that piece very much, but itlay quite near the footstool and he was still rather timid. 

"I believe he wants it to carry to his family in the wall, " Sarathought. "If I do not stir at all, perhaps he will come and get it. "

She scarcely allowed herself to breathe, she was so deeply interested. The rat shuffled a little nearer and ate a few more crumbs, then hestopped and sniffed delicately, giving a side glance at the occupant ofthe footstool; then he darted at the piece of bun with something verylike the sudden boldness of the sparrow, and the instant he hadpossession of it fled back to the wall, slipped down a crack in theskirting board, and was gone. 

"I knew he wanted it for his children, " said Sara. "I do believe Icould make friends with him. "

A week or so afterward, on one of the rare nights when Ermengarde foundit safe to steal up to the attic, when she tapped on the door with thetips of her fingers Sara did not come to her for two or three minutes. There was, indeed, such a silence in the room at first that Ermengardewondered if she could have fallen asleep. Then, to her surprise, sheheard her utter a little, low laugh and speak coaxingly to someone. 

"There!" Ermengarde heard her say. "Take it and go home, Melchisedec!Go home to your wife!"

Almost immediately Sara opened the door, and when she did so she foundErmengarde standing with alarmed eyes upon the threshold. 

"Who--who ARE you talking to, Sara?" she gasped out. 

Sara drew her in cautiously, but she looked as if something pleased andamused her. 

"You must promise not to be frightened--not to scream the least bit, orI can't tell you, " she answered. 

Ermengarde felt almost inclined to scream on the spot, but managed tocontrol herself. She looked all round the attic and saw no one. Andyet Sara had certainly been speaking TO someone. She thought of ghosts. 

"Is it--something that will frighten me?" she asked timorously. 

"Some people are afraid of them, " said Sara. "I was at first--but I amnot now. "

"Was it--a ghost?" quaked Ermengarde. 

"No, " said Sara, laughing. "It was my rat. "

Ermengarde made one bound, and landed in the middle of the little dingybed. She tucked her feet under her nightgown and the red shawl. Shedid not scream, but she gasped with fright. 

"Oh! Oh!" she cried under her breath. "A rat! A rat!"

"I was afraid you would be frightened, " said Sara. "But you needn'tbe. I am making him tame. He actually knows me and comes out when Icall him. Are you too frightened to want to see him?"

The truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the aid of scrapsbrought up from the kitchen, her curious friendship had developed, shehad gradually forgotten that the timid creature she was becomingfamiliar with was a mere rat. 

At first Ermengarde was too much alarmed to do anything but huddle in aheap upon the bed and tuck up her feet, but the sight of Sara'scomposed little countenance and the story of Melchisedec's firstappearance began at last to rouse her curiosity, and she leaned forwardover the edge of the bed and watched Sara go and kneel down by the holein the skirting board. 

"He--he won't run out quickly and jump on the bed, will he?" she said. 

"No, " answered Sara. "He's as polite as we are. He is just like aperson. Now watch!"

She began to make a low, whistling sound--so low and coaxing that itcould only have been heard in entire stillness. She did it severaltimes, looking entirely absorbed in it. Ermengarde thought she lookedas if she were working a spell. And at last, evidently in response toit, a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed head peeped out of the hole. Sarahad some crumbs in her hand. She dropped them, and Melchisedec camequietly forth and ate them. A piece of larger size than the rest hetook and carried in the most businesslike manner back to his home. 

"You see, " said Sara, "that is for his wife and children. He is verynice. He only eats the little bits. After he goes back I can alwayshear his family squeaking for joy. There are three kinds of squeaks. One kind is the children's, and one is Mrs. Melchisedec's, and one isMelchisedec's own. "

Ermengarde began to laugh. 

"Oh, Sara!" she said. "You ARE queer--but you are nice. "

"I know I am queer, " admitted Sara, cheerfully; "and I TRY to be nice. "She rubbed her forehead with her little brown paw, and a puzzled, tender look came into her face. "Papa always laughed at me, " she said;"but I liked it. He thought I was queer, but he liked me to make upthings. I--I can't help making up things. If I didn't, I don'tbelieve I could live. " She paused and glanced around the attic. "I'msure I couldn't live here, " she added in a low voice. 

Ermengarde was interested, as she always was. "When you talk aboutthings, " she said, "they seem as if they grew real. You talk aboutMelchisedec as if he was a person. "

"He IS a person, " said Sara. "He gets hungry and frightened, just aswe do; and he is married and has children. How do we know he doesn'tthink things, just as we do? His eyes look as if he was a person. That was why I gave him a name. "

She sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude, holding her knees. 

"Besides, " she said, "he is a Bastille rat sent to be my friend. I canalways get a bit of bread the cook has thrown away, and it is quiteenough to support him. "

"Is it the Bastille yet?" asked Ermengarde, eagerly. "Do you alwayspretend it is the Bastille?"

"Nearly always, " answered Sara. "Sometimes I try to pretend it isanother kind of place; but the Bastille is generallyeasiest--particularly when it is cold. "

Just at that moment Ermengarde almost jumped off the bed, she was sostartled by a sound she heard. It was like two distinct knocks on thewall. 

"What is that?" she exclaimed. 

Sara got up from the floor and answered quite dramatically:

"It is the prisoner in the next cell. "

"Becky!" cried Ermengarde, enraptured. 

"Yes, " said Sara. "Listen; the two knocks meant, 'Prisoner, are youthere?'"

She knocked three times on the wall herself, as if in answer. 

"That means, 'Yes, I am here, and all is well. '"

Four knocks came from Becky's side of the wall. 

"That means, " explained Sara, "'Then, fellow-sufferer, we will sleep inpeace. Good night. '"

Ermengarde quite beamed with delight. 

"Oh, Sara!" she whispered joyfully. "It is like a story!"

"It IS a story, " said Sara. "EVERYTHING'S a story. You are a story--Iam a story. Miss Minchin is a story. "

And she sat down again and talked until Ermengarde forgot that she wasa sort of escaped prisoner herself, and had to be reminded by Sara thatshe could not remain in the Bastille all night, but must stealnoiselessly downstairs again and creep back into her deserted bed. 

10

The Indian Gentleman

But it was a perilous thing for Ermengarde and Lottie to makepilgrimages to the attic. They could never be quite sure when Sarawould be there, and they could scarcely ever be certain that MissAmelia would not make a tour of inspection through the bedrooms afterthe pupils were supposed to be asleep. So their visits were rare ones, and Sara lived a strange and lonely life. It was a lonelier life whenshe was downstairs than when she was in her attic. She had no one totalk to; and when she was sent out on errands and walked through thestreets, a forlorn little figure carrying a basket or a parcel, tryingto hold her hat on when the wind was blowing, and feeling the watersoak through her shoes when it was raining, she felt as if the crowdshurrying past her made her loneliness greater. When she had been thePrincess Sara, driving through the streets in her brougham, or walking, attended by Mariette, the sight of her bright, eager little face andpicturesque coats and hats had often caused people to look after her. A happy, beautifully cared for little girl naturally attractsattention. Shabby, poorly dressed children are not rare enough andpretty enough to make people turn around to look at them and smile. Noone looked at Sara in these days, and no one seemed to see her as shehurried along the crowded pavements. She had begun to grow very fast, and, as she was dressed only in such clothes as the plainer remnants ofher wardrobe would supply, she knew she looked very queer, indeed. Allher valuable garments had been disposed of, and such as had been leftfor her use she was expected to wear so long as she could put them onat all. Sometimes, when she passed a shop window with a mirror in it, she almost laughed outright on catching a glimpse of herself, andsometimes her face went red and she bit her lip and turned away. 

In the evening, when she passed houses whose windows were lighted up, she used to look into the warm rooms and amuse herself by imaginingthings about the people she saw sitting before the fires or about thetables. It always interested her to catch glimpses of rooms before theshutters were closed. There were several families in the square inwhich Miss Minchin lived, with which she had become quite familiar in away of her own. The one she liked best she called the Large Family. She called it the Large Family not because the members of it werebig--for, indeed, most of them were little--but because there were somany of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, and astout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosygrandmother, and any number of servants. The eight children were alwayseither being taken out to walk or to ride in perambulators bycomfortable nurses, or they were going to drive with their mamma, orthey were flying to the door in the evening to meet their papa and kisshim and dance around him and drag off his overcoat and look in thepockets for packages, or they were crowding about the nursery windowsand looking out and pushing each other and laughing--in fact, they werealways doing something enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a largefamily. Sara was quite fond of them, and had given them names out ofbooks--quite romantic names. She called them the Montmorencys when shedid not call them the Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lacecap was Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was VioletCholmondeley Montmorency; the little boy who could just stagger and whohad such round legs was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then cameLilian Evangeline Maud Marion, Rosalind Gladys, Guy Clarence, VeronicaEustacia, and Claude Harold Hector. 

One evening a very funny thing happened--though, perhaps, in one senseit was not a funny thing at all. 

Several of the Montmorencys were evidently going to a children's party, and just as Sara was about to pass the door they were crossing thepavement to get into the carriage which was waiting for them. VeronicaEustacia and Rosalind Gladys, in white-lace frocks and lovely sashes, had just got in, and Guy Clarence, aged five, was following them. Hewas such a pretty fellow and had such rosy cheeks and blue eyes, andsuch a darling little round head covered with curls, that Sara forgother basket and shabby cloak altogether--in fact, forgot everything butthat she wanted to look at him for a moment. So she paused and looked. 

It was Christmas time, and the Large Family had been hearing manystories about children who were poor and had no mammas and papas tofill their stockings and take them to the pantomime--children who were, in fact, cold and thinly clad and hungry. In the stories, kindpeople--sometimes little boys and girls with tender hearts--invariablysaw the poor children and gave them money or rich gifts, or took themhome to beautiful dinners. Guy Clarence had been affected to tearsthat very afternoon by the reading of such a story, and he had burnedwith a desire to find such a poor child and give her a certain sixpencehe possessed, and thus provide for her for life. An entire sixpence, hewas sure, would mean affluence for evermore. As he crossed the strip ofred carpet laid across the pavement from the door to the carriage, hehad this very sixpence in the pocket of his very short man-o-wartrousers; And just as Rosalind Gladys got into the vehicle and jumpedon the seat in order to feel the cushions spring under her, he saw Sarastanding on the wet pavement in her shabby frock and hat, with her oldbasket on her arm, looking at him hungrily. 

He thought that her eyes looked hungry because she had perhaps hadnothing to eat for a long time. He did not know that they looked sobecause she was hungry for the warm, merry life his home held and hisrosy face spoke of, and that she had a hungry wish to snatch him in herarms and kiss him. He only knew that she had big eyes and a thin faceand thin legs and a common basket and poor clothes. So he put his handin his pocket and found his sixpence and walked up to her benignly. 

"Here, poor little girl, " he said. "Here is a sixpence. I will give itto you. "

Sara started, and all at once realized that she looked exactly likepoor children she had seen, in her better days, waiting on the pavementto watch her as she got out of her brougham. And she had given thempennies many a time. Her face went red and then it went pale, and fora second she felt as if she could not take the dear little sixpence. 

"Oh, no!" she said. "Oh, no, thank you; I mustn't take it, indeed!"

Her voice was so unlike an ordinary street child's voice and her mannerwas so like the manner of a well-bred little person that VeronicaEustacia (whose real name was Janet) and Rosalind Gladys (who wasreally called Nora) leaned forward to listen. 

But Guy Clarence was not to be thwarted in his benevolence. He thrustthe sixpence into her hand. 

"Yes, you must take it, poor little girl!" he insisted stoutly. "Youcan buy things to eat with it. It is a whole sixpence!"

There was something so honest and kind in his face, and he looked solikely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she did not take it, thatSara knew she must not refuse him. To be as proud as that would be acruel thing. So she actually put her pride in her pocket, though itmust be admitted her cheeks burned. 

"Thank you, " she said. "You are a kind, kind little darling thing. "And as he scrambled joyfully into the carriage she went away, trying tosmile, though she caught her breath quickly and her eyes were shiningthrough a mist. She had known that she looked odd and shabby, butuntil now she had not known that she might be taken for a beggar. 

As the Large Family's carriage drove away, the children inside it weretalking with interested excitement. 

"Oh, Donald, " (this was Guy Clarence's name), Janet exclaimedalarmedly, "why did you offer that little girl your sixpence? I'm sureshe is not a beggar!"

"She didn't speak like a beggar!" cried Nora. "And her face didn'treally look like a beggar's face!"

"Besides, she didn't beg, " said Janet. "I was so afraid she might beangry with you. You know, it makes people angry to be taken forbeggars when they are not beggars. "

"She wasn't angry, " said Donald, a trifle dismayed, but still firm. "She laughed a little, and she said I was a kind, kind little darlingthing. And I was!"--stoutly. "It was my whole sixpence. "

Janet and Nora exchanged glances. 

"A beggar girl would never have said that, " decided Janet. "She wouldhave said, 'Thank yer kindly, little gentleman--thank yer, sir;' andperhaps she would have bobbed a curtsy. "

Sara knew nothing about the fact, but from that time the Large Familywas as profoundly interested in her as she was in it. Faces used toappear at the nursery windows when she passed, and many discussionsconcerning her were held round the fire. 

"She is a kind of servant at the seminary, " Janet said. "I don'tbelieve she belongs to anybody. I believe she is an orphan. But she isnot a beggar, however shabby she looks. "

And afterward she was called by all of them, "The-little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar, " which was, of course, rather along name, and sounded very funny sometimes when the youngest ones saidit in a hurry. 

Sara managed to bore a hole in the sixpence and hung it on an old bitof narrow ribbon round her neck. Her affection for the Large Familyincreased--as, indeed, her affection for everything she could loveincreased. She grew fonder and fonder of Becky, and she used to lookforward to the two mornings a week when she went into the schoolroom togive the little ones their French lesson. Her small pupils loved her, and strove with each other for the privilege of standing close to herand insinuating their small hands into hers. It fed her hungry heart tofeel them nestling up to her. She made such friends with the sparrowsthat when she stood upon the table, put her head and shoulders out ofthe attic window, and chirped, she heard almost immediately a flutterof wings and answering twitters, and a little flock of dingy town birdsappeared and alighted on the slates to talk to her and make much of thecrumbs she scattered. With Melchisedec she had become so intimate thathe actually brought Mrs. Melchisedec with him sometimes, and now andthen one or two of his children. She used to talk to him, and, somehow, he looked quite as if he understood. 

There had grown in her mind rather a strange feeling about Emily, whoalways sat and looked on at everything. It arose in one of her momentsof great desolateness. She would have liked to believe or pretend tobelieve that Emily understood and sympathized with her. She did notlike to own to herself that her only companion could feel and hearnothing. She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite toher on the old red footstool, and stare and pretend about her until herown eyes would grow large with something which was almost likefear--particularly at night when everything was so still, when the onlysound in the attic was the occasional sudden scurry and squeak ofMelchisedec's family in the wall. One of her "pretends" was that Emilywas a kind of good witch who could protect her. Sometimes, after shehad stared at her until she was wrought up to the highest pitch offancifulness, she would ask her questions and find herself ALMOSTfeeling as if she would presently answer. But she never did. 

"As to answering, though, " said Sara, trying to console herself, "Idon't answer very often. I never answer when I can help it. Whenpeople are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them as not tosay a word--just to look at them and THINK. Miss Minchin turns palewith rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened, and so do thegirls. When you will not fly into a passion people know you arestronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in yourrage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wish theyhadn't said afterward. There's nothing so strong as rage, except whatmakes you hold it in--that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answeryour enemies. I scarcely ever do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than Iam like myself. Perhaps she would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in her heart. "

But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, she didnot find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she had beensent here and there, sometimes on long errands through wind and coldand rain, she came in wet and hungry, and was sent out again becausenobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that her slimlegs might be tired and her small body might be chilled; when she hadbeen given only harsh words and cold, slighting looks for thanks; whenthe cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss Minchin had been inher worst mood, and when she had seen the girls sneering amongthemselves at her shabbiness--then she was not always able to comforther sore, proud, desolate heart with fancies when Emily merely satupright in her old chair and stared. 

One of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold and hungry, with a tempest raging in her young breast, Emily's stare seemed sovacant, her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive, that Sara lost allcontrol over herself. There was nobody but Emily--no one in the world. And there she sat. 

"I shall die presently, " she said at first. 

Emily simply stared. 

"I can't bear this, " said the poor child, trembling. "I know I shalldie. I'm cold; I'm wet; I'm starving to death. I've walked a thousandmiles today, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning untilnight. And because I could not find that last thing the cook sent mefor, they would not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me becausemy old shoes made me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they laughed. Do you hear?"

She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face, and suddenlya sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her little savagehand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion ofsobbing--Sara who never cried. 

"You are nothing but a DOLL!" she cried. "Nothing but adoll--doll--doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. You are aDOLL!" Emily lay on the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled upover her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she wascalm, even dignified. Sara hid her face in her arms. The rats in thewall began to fight and bite each other and squeak and scramble. Melchisedec was chastising some of his family. 

Sara's sobs gradually quieted themselves. It was so unlike her tobreak down that she was surprised at herself. After a while she raisedher face and looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her round theside of one angle, and, somehow, by this time actually with a kind ofglassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtookher. She even smiled at herself a very little smile. 

"You can't help being a doll, " she said with a resigned sigh, "any morethan Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense. We are not allmade alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best. " And she kissed her andshook her clothes straight, and put her back upon her chair. 

She had wished very much that some one would take the empty house nextdoor. She wished it because of the attic window which was so nearhers. It seemed as if it would be so nice to see it propped opensomeday and a head and shoulders rising out of the square aperture. 

"If it looked a nice head, " she thought, "I might begin by saying, 'Good morning, ' and all sorts of things might happen. But, of course, it's not really likely that anyone but under servants would sleepthere. "

One morning, on turning the corner of the square after a visit to thegrocer's, the butcher's, and the baker's, she saw, to her greatdelight, that during her rather prolonged absence, a van full offurniture had stopped before the next house, the front doors werethrown open, and men in shirt sleeves were going in and out carryingheavy packages and pieces of furniture. 

"It's taken!" she said. "It really IS taken! Oh, I do hope a nicehead will look out of the attic window!"

She would almost have liked to join the group of loiterers who hadstopped on the pavement to watch the things carried in. She had an ideathat if she could see some of the furniture she could guess somethingabout the people it belonged to. 

"Miss Minchin's tables and chairs are just like her, " she thought; "Iremember thinking that the first minute I saw her, even though I was solittle. I told papa afterward, and he laughed and said it was true. Iam sure the Large Family have fat, comfortable armchairs and sofas, andI can see that their red-flowery wallpaper is exactly like them. It'swarm and cheerful and kind-looking and happy. "

She was sent out for parsley to the greengrocer's later in the day, andwhen she came up the area steps her heart gave quite a quick beat ofrecognition. Several pieces of furniture had been set out of the vanupon the pavement. There was a beautiful table of elaborately wroughtteakwood, and some chairs, and a screen covered with rich Orientalembroidery. The sight of them gave her a weird, homesick feeling. Shehad seen things so like them in India. One of the things Miss Minchinhad taken from her was a carved teakwood desk her father had sent her. 

"They are beautiful things, " she said; "they look as if they ought tobelong to a nice person. All the things look rather grand. I supposeit is a rich family. "

The vans of furniture came and were unloaded and gave place to othersall the day. Several times it so happened that Sara had an opportunityof seeing things carried in. It became plain that she had been rightin guessing that the newcomers were people of large means. All thefurniture was rich and beautiful, and a great deal of it was Oriental. Wonderful rugs and draperies and ornaments were taken from the vans, many pictures, and books enough for a library. Among other things therewas a superb god Buddha in a splendid shrine. 

"Someone in the family MUST have been in India, " Sara thought. "Theyhave got used to Indian things and like them. I AM glad. I shall feelas if they were friends, even if a head never looks out of the atticwindow. "

When she was taking in the evening's milk for the cook (there wasreally no odd job she was not called upon to do), she saw somethingoccur which made the situation more interesting than ever. Thehandsome, rosy man who was the father of the Large Family walked acrossthe square in the most matter-of-fact manner, and ran up the steps ofthe next-door house. He ran up them as if he felt quite at home andexpected to run up and down them many a time in the future. He stayedinside quite a long time, and several times came out and gavedirections to the workmen, as if he had a right to do so. It was quitecertain that he was in some intimate way connected with the newcomersand was acting for them. 

"If the new people have children, " Sara speculated, "the Large Familychildren will be sure to come and play with them, and they MIGHT comeup into the attic just for fun. "

At night, after her work was done, Becky came in to see her fellowprisoner and bring her news. 

"It's a' Nindian gentleman that's comin' to live next door, miss, " shesaid. "I don't know whether he's a black gentleman or not, but he's aNindian one. He's very rich, an' he's ill, an' the gentleman of theLarge Family is his lawyer. He's had a lot of trouble, an' it's madehim ill an' low in his mind. He worships idols, miss. He's an 'eathenan' bows down to wood an' stone. I seen a' idol bein' carried in forhim to worship. Somebody had oughter send him a trac'. You can get atrac' for a penny. "

Sara laughed a little. 

"I don't believe he worships that idol, " she said; "some people like tokeep them to look at because they are interesting. My papa had abeautiful one, and he did not worship it. "

But Becky was rather inclined to prefer to believe that the newneighbor was "an 'eathen. " It sounded so much more romantic than thathe should merely be the ordinary kind of gentleman who went to churchwith a prayer book. She sat and talked long that night of what hewould be like, of what his wife would be like if he had one, and ofwhat his children would be like if they had children. Sara saw thatprivately she could not help hoping very much that they would all beblack, and would wear turbans, and, above all, that--like theirparent--they would all be "'eathens. "

"I never lived next door to no 'eathens, miss, " she said; "I shouldlike to see what sort o' ways they'd have. "

It was several weeks before her curiosity was satisfied, and then itwas revealed that the new occupant had neither wife nor children. Hewas a solitary man with no family at all, and it was evident that hewas shattered in health and unhappy in mind. 

A carriage drove up one day and stopped before the house. When thefootman dismounted from the box and opened the door the gentleman whowas the father of the Large Family got out first. After him theredescended a nurse in uniform, then came down the steps twomen-servants. They came to assist their master, who, when he was helpedout of the carriage, proved to be a man with a haggard, distressedface, and a skeleton body wrapped in furs. He was carried up thesteps, and the head of the Large Family went with him, looking veryanxious. Shortly afterward a doctor's carriage arrived, and the doctorwent in--plainly to take care of him. 

"There is such a yellow gentleman next door, Sara, " Lottie whispered atthe French class afterward. "Do you think he is a Chinee? Thegeography says the Chinee men are yellow. "

"No, he is not Chinese, " Sara whispered back; "he is very ill. Go onwith your exercise, Lottie. 'Non, monsieur. Je n'ai pas le canif demon oncle. '"

That was the beginning of the story of the Indian gentleman. 

11

Ram Dass

There were fine sunsets even in the square, sometimes. One could onlysee parts of them, however, between the chimneys and over the roofs. From the kitchen windows one could not see them at all, and could onlyguess that they were going on because the bricks looked warm and theair rosy or yellow for a while, or perhaps one saw a blazing glowstrike a particular pane of glass somewhere. There was, however, oneplace from which one could see all the splendor of them: the piles ofred or gold clouds in the west; or the purple ones edged with dazzlingbrightness; or the little fleecy, floating ones, tinged with rose-colorand looking like flights of pink doves scurrying across the blue in agreat hurry if there was a wind. The place where one could see allthis, and seem at the same time to breathe a purer air, was, of course, the attic window. When the square suddenly seemed to begin to glow inan enchanted way and look wonderful in spite of its sooty trees andrailings, Sara knew something was going on in the sky; and when it wasat all possible to leave the kitchen without being missed or calledback, she invariably stole away and crept up the flights of stairs, and, climbing on the old table, got her head and body as far out of thewindow as possible. When she had accomplished this, she always drew along breath and looked all round her. It used to seem as if she hadall the sky and the world to herself. No one else ever looked out ofthe other attics. Generally the skylights were closed; but even ifthey were propped open to admit air, no one seemed to come near them. And there Sara would stand, sometimes turning her face upward to theblue which seemed so friendly and near--just like a lovely vaultedceiling--sometimes watching the west and all the wonderful things thathappened there: the clouds melting or drifting or waiting softly to bechanged pink or crimson or snow-white or purple or pale dove-gray. Sometimes they made islands or great mountains enclosing lakes of deepturquoise-blue, or liquid amber, or chrysoprase-green; sometimes darkheadlands jutted into strange, lost seas; sometimes slender strips ofwonderful lands joined other wonderful lands together. There wereplaces where it seemed that one could run or climb or stand and wait tosee what next was coming--until, perhaps, as it all melted, one couldfloat away. At least it seemed so to Sara, and nothing had ever beenquite so beautiful to her as the things she saw as she stood on thetable--her body half out of the skylight--the sparrows twittering withsunset softness on the slates. The sparrows always seemed to her totwitter with a sort of subdued softness just when these marvels weregoing on. 

There was such a sunset as this a few days after the Indian gentlemanwas brought to his new home; and, as it fortunately happened that theafternoon's work was done in the kitchen and nobody had ordered her togo anywhere or perform any task, Sara found it easier than usual toslip away and go upstairs. 

She mounted her table and stood looking out. It was a wonderfulmoment. There were floods of molten gold covering the west, as if aglorious tide was sweeping over the world. A deep, rich yellow lightfilled the air; the birds flying across the tops of the houses showedquite black against it. 

"It's a Splendid one, " said Sara, softly, to herself. "It makes mefeel almost afraid--as if something strange was just going to happen. The Splendid ones always make me feel like that. "

She suddenly turned her head because she heard a sound a few yards awayfrom her. It was an odd sound like a queer little squeaky chattering. It came from the window of the next attic. Someone had come to look atthe sunset as she had. There was a head and a part of a body emergingfrom the skylight, but it was not the head or body of a little girl ora housemaid; it was the picturesque white-swathed form and dark-faced, gleaming-eyed, white-turbaned head of a native Indian man-servant--"aLascar, " Sara said to herself quickly--and the sound she had heard camefrom a small monkey he held in his arms as if he were fond of it, andwhich was snuggling and chattering against his breast. 

As Sara looked toward him he looked toward her. The first thing shethought was that his dark face looked sorrowful and homesick. She feltabsolutely sure he had come up to look at the sun, because he had seenit so seldom in England that he longed for a sight of it. She looked athim interestedly for a second, and then smiled across the slates. Shehad learned to know how comforting a smile, even from a stranger, maybe. 

Hers was evidently a pleasure to him. His whole expression altered, and he showed such gleaming white teeth as he smiled back that it wasas if a light had been illuminated in his dusky face. The friendly lookin Sara's eyes was always very effective when people felt tired or dull. 

It was perhaps in making his salute to her that he loosened his hold onthe monkey. He was an impish monkey and always ready for adventure, and it is probable that the sight of a little girl excited him. Hesuddenly broke loose, jumped on to the slates, ran across themchattering, and actually leaped on to Sara's shoulder, and from theredown into her attic room. It made her laugh and delighted her; but sheknew he must be restored to his master--if the Lascar was hismaster--and she wondered how this was to be done. Would he let hercatch him, or would he be naughty and refuse to be caught, and perhapsget away and run off over the roofs and be lost? That would not do atall. Perhaps he belonged to the Indian gentleman, and the poor man wasfond of him. 

She turned to the Lascar, feeling glad that she remembered still someof the Hindustani she had learned when she lived with her father. Shecould make the man understand. She spoke to him in the language heknew. 

"Will he let me catch him?" she asked. 

She thought she had never seen more surprise and delight than the darkface expressed when she spoke in the familiar tongue. The truth wasthat the poor fellow felt as if his gods had intervened, and the kindlittle voice came from heaven itself. At once Sara saw that he hadbeen accustomed to European children. He poured forth a flood ofrespectful thanks. He was the servant of Missee Sahib. The monkey wasa good monkey and would not bite; but, unfortunately, he was difficultto catch. He would flee from one spot to another, like the lightning. He was disobedient, though not evil. Ram Dass knew him as if he werehis child, and Ram Dass he would sometimes obey, but not always. IfMissee Sahib would permit Ram Dass, he himself could cross the roof toher room, enter the windows, and regain the unworthy little animal. But he was evidently afraid Sara might think he was taking a greatliberty and perhaps would not let him come. 

But Sara gave him leave at once. 

"Can you get across?" she inquired. 

"In a moment, " he answered her. 

"Then come, " she said; "he is flying from side to side of the room asif he was frightened. "

Ram Dass slipped through his attic window and crossed to hers assteadily and lightly as if he had walked on roofs all his life. Heslipped through the skylight and dropped upon his feet without a sound. Then he turned to Sara and salaamed again. The monkey saw him anduttered a little scream. Ram Dass hastily took the precaution ofshutting the skylight, and then went in chase of him. It was not a verylong chase. The monkey prolonged it a few minutes evidently for themere fun of it, but presently he sprang chattering on to Ram Dass'sshoulder and sat there chattering and clinging to his neck with a weirdlittle skinny arm. 

Ram Dass thanked Sara profoundly. She had seen that his quick nativeeyes had taken in at a glance all the bare shabbiness of the room, buthe spoke to her as if he were speaking to the little daughter of arajah, and pretended that he observed nothing. He did not presume toremain more than a few moments after he had caught the monkey, andthose moments were given to further deep and grateful obeisance to herin return for her indulgence. This little evil one, he said, strokingthe monkey, was, in truth, not so evil as he seemed, and his master, who was ill, was sometimes amused by him. He would have been made sadif his favorite had run away and been lost. Then he salaamed once moreand got through the skylight and across the slates again with as muchagility as the monkey himself had displayed. 

When he had gone Sara stood in the middle of her attic and thought ofmany things his face and his manner had brought back to her. The sightof his native costume and the profound reverence of his manner stirredall her past memories. It seemed a strange thing to remember thatshe--the drudge whom the cook had said insulting things to an hourago--had only a few years ago been surrounded by people who all treatedher as Ram Dass had treated her; who salaamed when she went by, whoseforeheads almost touched the ground when she spoke to them, who wereher servants and her slaves. It was like a sort of dream. It was allover, and it could never come back. It certainly seemed that there wasno way in which any change could take place. She knew what Miss Minchinintended that her future should be. So long as she was too young to beused as a regular teacher, she would be used as an errand girl andservant and yet expected to remember what she had learned and in somemysterious way to learn more. The greater number of her evenings shewas supposed to spend at study, and at various indefinite intervals shewas examined and knew she would have been severely admonished if shehad not advanced as was expected of her. The truth, indeed, was thatMiss Minchin knew that she was too anxious to learn to requireteachers. Give her books, and she would devour them and end by knowingthem by heart. She might be trusted to be equal to teaching a gooddeal in the course of a few years. This was what would happen: whenshe was older she would be expected to drudge in the schoolroom as shedrudged now in various parts of the house; they would be obliged togive her more respectable clothes, but they would be sure to be plainand ugly and to make her look somehow like a servant. That was allthere seemed to be to look forward to, and Sara stood quite still forseveral minutes and thought it over. 

Then a thought came back to her which made the color rise in her cheekand a spark light itself in her eyes. She straightened her thin littlebody and lifted her head. 

"Whatever comes, " she said, "cannot alter one thing. If I am aprincess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would beeasy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is agreat deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knowsit. There was Marie Antoinette when she was in prison and her thronewas gone and she had only a black gown on, and her hair was white, andthey insulted her and called her Widow Capet. She was a great deal morelike a queen then than when she was so gay and everything was so grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs of people did not frightenher. She was stronger than they were, even when they cut her head off. "

This was not a new thought, but quite an old one, by this time. It hadconsoled her through many a bitter day, and she had gone about thehouse with an expression in her face which Miss Minchin could notunderstand and which was a source of great annoyance to her, as itseemed as if the child were mentally living a life which held her abovehe rest of the world. It was as if she scarcely heard the rude andacid things said to her; or, if she heard them, did not care for themat all. Sometimes, when she was in the midst of some harsh, domineering speech, Miss Minchin would find the still, unchildish eyesfixed upon her with something like a proud smile in them. At suchtimes she did not know that Sara was saying to herself:

"You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, andthat if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I onlyspare you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, unkind, vulgar old thing, and don't know any better. "

This used to interest and amuse her more than anything else; and queerand fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it and it was a good thingfor her. While the thought held possession of her, she could not bemade rude and malicious by the rudeness and malice of those about her. 

"A princess must be polite, " she said to herself. 

And so when the servants, taking their tone from their mistress, wereinsolent and ordered her about, she would hold her head erect and replyto them with a quaint civility which often made them stare at her. 

"She's got more airs and graces than if she come from BuckinghamPalace, that young one, " said the cook, chuckling a little sometimes. "I lose my temper with her often enough, but I will say she neverforgets her manners. 'If you please, cook'; 'Will you be so kind, cook?' 'I beg your pardon, cook'; 'May I trouble you, cook?' Shedrops 'em about the kitchen as if they was nothing. "

The morning after the interview with Ram Dass and his monkey, Sara wasin the schoolroom with her small pupils. Having finished giving themtheir lessons, she was putting the French exercise-books together andthinking, as she did it, of the various things royal personages indisguise were called upon to do: Alfred the Great, for instance, burning the cakes and getting his ears boxed by the wife of theneat-herd. How frightened she must have been when she found out whatshe had done. If Miss Minchin should find out that she--Sara, whosetoes were almost sticking out of her boots--was a princess--a real one!The look in her eyes was exactly the look which Miss Minchin mostdisliked. She would not have it; she was quite near her and was soenraged that she actually flew at her and boxed her ears--exactly asthe neat-herd's wife had boxed King Alfred's. It made Sara start. Shewakened from her dream at the shock, and, catching her breath, stoodstill a second. Then, not knowing she was going to do it, she brokeinto a little laugh. 

"What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child?" Miss Minchinexclaimed. 

It took Sara a few seconds to control herself sufficiently to rememberthat she was a princess. Her cheeks were red and smarting from theblows she had received. 

"I was thinking, " she answered. 

"Beg my pardon immediately, " said Miss Minchin. 

Sara hesitated a second before she replied. 

"I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude, " she said then;"but I won't beg your pardon for thinking. "

"What were you thinking?" demanded Miss Minchin. 

"How dare you think? What were you thinking?"

Jessie tittered, and she and Lavinia nudged each other in unison. Allthe girls looked up from their books to listen. Really, it alwaysinterested them a little when Miss Minchin attacked Sara. Sara alwayssaid something queer, and never seemed the least bit frightened. Shewas not in the least frightened now, though her boxed ears were scarletand her eyes were as bright as stars. 

"I was thinking, " she answered grandly and politely, "that you did notknow what you were doing. "

"That I did not know what I was doing?" Miss Minchin fairly gasped. 

"Yes, " said Sara, "and I was thinking what would happen if I were aprincess and you boxed my ears--what I should do to you. And I wasthinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever Isaid or did. And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you wouldbe if you suddenly found out--"

She had the imagined future so clearly before her eyes that she spokein a manner which had an effect even upon Miss Minchin. It almostseemed for the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there mustbe some real power hidden behind this candid daring. 

"What?" she exclaimed. "Found out what?"

"That I really was a princess, " said Sara, "and could doanything--anything I liked. "

Every pair of eyes in the room widened to its full limit. Lavinialeaned forward on her seat to look. 

"Go to your room, " cried Miss Minchin, breathlessly, "this instant!Leave the schoolroom! Attend to your lessons, young ladies!"

Sara made a little bow. 

"Excuse me for laughing if it was impolite, " she said, and walked outof the room, leaving Miss Minchin struggling with her rage, and thegirls whispering over their books. 

"Did you see her? Did you see how queer she looked?" Jessie brokeout. "I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to besomething. Suppose she should!"

12

The Other Side of the Wall

When one lives in a row of houses, it is interesting to think of thethings which are being done and said on the other side of the wall ofthe very rooms one is living in. Sara was fond of amusing herself bytrying to imagine the things hidden by the wall which divided theSelect Seminary from the Indian gentleman's house. She knew that theschoolroom was next to the Indian gentleman's study, and she hoped thatthe wall was thick so that the noise made sometimes after lesson hourswould not disturb him. 

"I am growing quite fond of him, " she said to Ermengarde; "I should notlike him to be disturbed. I have adopted him for a friend. You can dothat with people you never speak to at all. You can just watch them, and think about them and be sorry for them, until they seem almost likerelations. I'm quite anxious sometimes when I see the doctor calltwice a day. "

"I have very few relations, " said Ermengarde, reflectively, "and I'mvery glad of it. I don't like those I have. My two aunts are alwayssaying, 'Dear me, Ermengarde! You are very fat. You shouldn't eatsweets, ' and my uncle is always asking me things like, 'When did Edwardthe Third ascend the throne?' and, 'Who died of a surfeit of lampreys?'"

Sara laughed. 

"People you never speak to can't ask you questions like that, " shesaid; "and I'm sure the Indian gentleman wouldn't even if he was quiteintimate with you. I am fond of him. "

She had become fond of the Large Family because they looked happy; butshe had become fond of the Indian gentleman because he looked unhappy. He had evidently not fully recovered from some very severe illness. Inthe kitchen--where, of course, the servants, through some mysteriousmeans, knew everything--there was much discussion of his case. He wasnot an Indian gentleman really, but an Englishman who had lived inIndia. He had met with great misfortunes which had for a time soimperilled his whole fortune that he had thought himself ruined anddisgraced forever. The shock had been so great that he had almost diedof brain fever; and ever since he had been shattered in health, thoughhis fortunes had changed and all his possessions had been restored tohim. His trouble and peril had been connected with mines. 

"And mines with diamonds in 'em!" said the cook. "No savin's of minenever goes into no mines--particular diamond ones"--with a side glanceat Sara. "We all know somethin' of THEM. " "He felt as my papa felt, "Sara thought. "He was ill as my papa was; but he did not die. "

So her heart was more drawn to him than before. When she was sent outat night she used sometimes to feel quite glad, because there wasalways a chance that the curtains of the house next door might not yetbe closed and she could look into the warm room and see her adoptedfriend. When no one was about she used sometimes to stop, and, holdingto the iron railings, wish him good night as if he could hear her. 

"Perhaps you can FEEL if you can't hear, " was her fancy. "Perhaps kindthoughts reach people somehow, even through windows and doors andwalls. Perhaps you feel a little warm and comforted, and don't knowwhy, when I am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get welland happy again. I am so sorry for you, " she would whisper in anintense little voice. "I wish you had a 'Little Missus' who could petyou as I used to pet papa when he had a headache. I should like to beyour 'Little Missus' myself, poor dear! Good night--good night. Godbless you!"

She would go away, feeling quite comforted and a little warmer herself. Her sympathy was so strong that it seemed as if it MUST reach himsomehow as he sat alone in his armchair by the fire, nearly always in agreat dressing gown, and nearly always with his forehead resting in hishand as he gazed hopelessly into the fire. He looked to Sara like a manwho had a trouble on his mind still, not merely like one whose troubleslay all in the past. 

"He always seems as if he were thinking of something that hurts himNOW", she said to herself, "but he has got his money back and he willget over his brain fever in time, so he ought not to look like that. Iwonder if there is something else. "

If there was something else--something even servants did not hearof--she could not help believing that the father of the Large Familyknew it--the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency. Mr. Montmorencywent to see him often, and Mrs. Montmorency and all the littleMontmorencys went, too, though less often. He seemed particularly fondof the two elder little girls--the Janet and Nora who had been soalarmed when their small brother Donald had given Sara his sixpence. Hehad, in fact, a very tender place in his heart for all children, andparticularly for little girls. Janet and Nora were as fond of him ashe was of them, and looked forward with the greatest pleasure to theafternoons when they were allowed to cross the square and make theirwell-behaved little visits to him. They were extremely decorous littlevisits because he was an invalid. 

"He is a poor thing, " said Janet, "and he says we cheer him up. We tryto cheer him up very quietly. "

Janet was the head of the family, and kept the rest of it in order. Itwas she who decided when it was discreet to ask the Indian gentleman totell stories about India, and it was she who saw when he was tired andit was the time to steal quietly away and tell Ram Dass to go to him. They were very fond of Ram Dass. He could have told any number ofstories if he had been able to speak anything but Hindustani. TheIndian gentleman's real name was Mr. Carrisford, and Janet told Mr. Carrisford about the encounter with thelittle-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. He was very much interested, and allthe more so when he heard from Ram Dass of the adventure of the monkeyon the roof. Ram Dass made for him a very clear picture of the atticand its desolateness--of the bare floor and broken plaster, the rusty, empty grate, and the hard, narrow bed. 

"Carmichael, " he said to the father of the Large Family, after he hadheard this description, "I wonder how many of the attics in this squareare like that one, and how many wretched little servant girls sleep onsuch beds, while I toss on my down pillows, loaded and harassed bywealth that is, most of it--not mine. "

"My dear fellow, " Mr. Carmichael answered cheerily, "the sooner youcease tormenting yourself the better it will be for you. If youpossessed all the wealth of all the Indies, you could not set right allthe discomforts in the world, and if you began to refurnish all theattics in this square, there would still remain all the attics in allthe other squares and streets to put in order. And there you are!"

Mr. Carrisford sat and bit his nails as he looked into the glowing bedof coals in the grate. 

"Do you suppose, " he said slowly, after a pause--"do you think it ispossible that the other child--the child I never cease thinking of, Ibelieve--could be--could POSSIBLY be reduced to any such condition asthe poor little soul next door?"

Mr. Carmichael looked at him uneasily. He knew that the worst thingthe man could do for himself, for his reason and his health, was tobegin to think in the particular way of this particular subject. 

"If the child at Madame Pascal's school in Paris was the one you are insearch of, " he answered soothingly, "she would seem to be in the handsof people who can afford to take care of her. They adopted her becauseshe had been the favorite companion of their little daughter who died. They had no other children, and Madame Pascal said that they wereextremely well-to-do Russians. "

"And the wretched woman actually did not know where they had takenher!" exclaimed Mr. Carrisford. 

Mr. Carmichael shrugged his shoulders. 

"She was a shrewd, worldly Frenchwoman, and was evidently only too gladto get the child so comfortably off her hands when the father's deathleft her totally unprovided for. Women of her type do not troublethemselves about the futures of children who might prove burdens. Theadopted parents apparently disappeared and left no trace. "

"But you say 'IF the child was the one I am in search of. You say 'if. 'We are not sure. There was a difference in the name. "

"Madame Pascal pronounced it as if it were Carew instead of Crewe--butthat might be merely a matter of pronunciation. The circumstances werecuriously similar. An English officer in India had placed hismotherless little girl at the school. He had died suddenly afterlosing his fortune. " Mr. Carmichael paused a moment, as if a newthought had occurred to him. "Are you SURE the child was left at aschool in Paris? Are you sure it was Paris?"

"My dear fellow, " broke forth Carrisford, with restless bitterness, "Iam SURE of nothing. I never saw either the child or her mother. RalphCrewe and I loved each other as boys, but we had not met since ourschool days, until we met in India. I was absorbed in the magnificentpromise of the mines. He became absorbed, too. The whole thing was sohuge and glittering that we half lost our heads. When we met wescarcely spoke of anything else. I only knew that the child had beensent to school somewhere. I do not even remember, now, HOW I knew it. "

He was beginning to be excited. He always became excited when hisstill weakened brain was stirred by memories of the catastrophes of thepast. 

Mr. Carmichael watched him anxiously. It was necessary to ask somequestions, but they must be put quietly and with caution. 

"But you had reason to think the school WAS in Paris?"

"Yes, " was the answer, "because her mother was a Frenchwoman, and I hadheard that she wished her child to be educated in Paris. It seemedonly likely that she would be there. "

"Yes, " Mr. Carmichael said, "it seems more than probable. "

The Indian gentleman leaned forward and struck the table with a long, wasted hand. 

"Carmichael, " he said, "I MUST find her. If she is alive, she issomewhere. If she is friendless and penniless, it is through my fault. How is a man to get back his nerve with a thing like that on his mind?This sudden change of luck at the mines has made realities of all ourmost fantastic dreams, and poor Crewe's child may be begging in thestreet!"

"No, no, " said Carmichael. "Try to be calm. Console yourself with thefact that when she is found you have a fortune to hand over to her. "

"Why was I not man enough to stand my ground when things looked black?"Carrisford groaned in petulant misery. "I believe I should have stoodmy ground if I had not been responsible for other people's money aswell as my own. Poor Crewe had put into the scheme every penny that heowned. He trusted me--he LOVED me. And he died thinking I had ruinedhim--I--Tom Carrisford, who played cricket at Eton with him. What avillain he must have thought me!"

"Don't reproach yourself so bitterly. "

"I don't reproach myself because the speculation threatened to fail--Ireproach myself for losing my courage. I ran away like a swindler anda thief, because I could not face my best friend and tell him I hadruined him and his child. "

The good-hearted father of the Large Family put his hand on hisshoulder comfortingly. 

"You ran away because your brain had given way under the strain ofmental torture, " he said. "You were half delirious already. If youhad not been you would have stayed and fought it out. You were in ahospital, strapped down in bed, raving with brain fever, two days afteryou left the place. Remember that. "

Carrisford dropped his forehead in his hands. 

"Good God! Yes, " he said. "I was driven mad with dread and horror. Ihad not slept for weeks. The night I staggered out of my house all theair seemed full of hideous things mocking and mouthing at me. "

"That is explanation enough in itself, " said Mr. Carmichael. "Howcould a man on the verge of brain fever judge sanely!"

Carrisford shook his drooping head. 

"And when I returned to consciousness poor Crewe was dead--and buried. And I seemed to remember nothing. I did not remember the child formonths and months. Even when I began to recall her existenceeverything seemed in a sort of haze. "

He stopped a moment and rubbed his forehead. "It sometimes seems sonow when I try to remember. Surely I must sometime have heard Crewespeak of the school she was sent to. Don't you think so?"

"He might not have spoken of it definitely. You never seem even tohave heard her real name. "

"He used to call her by an odd pet name he had invented. He called herhis 'Little Missus. ' But the wretched mines drove everything else outof our heads. We talked of nothing else. If he spoke of the school, Iforgot--I forgot. And now I shall never remember. "

"Come, come, " said Carmichael. "We shall find her yet. We willcontinue to search for Madame Pascal's good-natured Russians. Sheseemed to have a vague idea that they lived in Moscow. We will takethat as a clue. I will go to Moscow. "

"If I were able to travel, I would go with you, " said Carrisford; "butI can only sit here wrapped in furs and stare at the fire. And when Ilook into it I seem to see Crewe's gay young face gazing back at me. He looks as if he were asking me a question. Sometimes I dream of himat night, and he always stands before me and asks the same question inwords. Can you guess what he says, Carmichael?"

Mr. Carmichael answered him in a rather low voice. 

"Not exactly, " he said. 

"He always says, 'Tom, old man--Tom--where is the Little Missus?'" Hecaught at Carmichael's hand and clung to it. "I must be able to answerhim--I must!" he said. "Help me to find her. Help me. "

On the other side of the wall Sara was sitting in her garret talking toMelchisedec, who had come out for his evening meal. 

"It has been hard to be a princess today, Melchisedec, " she said. "Ithas been harder than usual. It gets harder as the weather grows colderand the streets get more sloppy. When Lavinia laughed at my muddyskirt as I passed her in the hall, I thought of something to say all ina flash--and I only just stopped myself in time. You can't sneer backat people like that--if you are a princess. But you have to bite yourtongue to hold yourself in. I bit mine. It was a cold afternoon, Melchisedec. And it's a cold night. "

Quite suddenly she put her black head down in her arms, as she oftendid when she was alone. 

"Oh, papa, " she whispered, "what a long time it seems since I was your'Little Missus'!"

This was what happened that day on both sides of the wall. 

13

One of the Populace

The winter was a wretched one. There were days on which Sara trampedthrough snow when she went on her errands; there were worse days whenthe snow melted and combined itself with mud to form slush; there wereothers when the fog was so thick that the lamps in the street werelighted all day and London looked as it had looked the afternoon, several years ago, when the cab had driven through the thoroughfareswith Sara tucked up on its seat, leaning against her father's shoulder. On such days the windows of the house of the Large Family always lookeddelightfully cozy and alluring, and the study in which the Indiangentleman sat glowed with warmth and rich color. But the attic wasdismal beyond words. There were no longer sunsets or sunrises to lookat, and scarcely ever any stars, it seemed to Sara. The clouds hunglow over the skylight and were either gray or mud-color, or droppingheavy rain. At four o'clock in the afternoon, even when there was nospecial fog, the daylight was at an end. If it was necessary to go toher attic for anything, Sara was obliged to light a candle. The womenin the kitchen were depressed, and that made them more ill-temperedthan ever. Becky was driven like a little slave. 

"'Twarn't for you, miss, " she said hoarsely to Sara one night when shehad crept into the attic--"'twarn't for you, an' the Bastille, an'bein' the prisoner in the next cell, I should die. That there doesseem real now, doesn't it? The missus is more like the head jailerevery day she lives. I can jest see them big keys you say she carries. The cook she's like one of the under-jailers. Tell me some more, please, miss--tell me about the subt'ranean passage we've dug under thewalls. "

"I'll tell you something warmer, " shivered Sara. "Get your coverletand wrap it round you, and I'll get mine, and we will huddle closetogether on the bed, and I'll tell you about the tropical forest wherethe Indian gentleman's monkey used to live. When I see him sitting onthe table near the window and looking out into the street with thatmournful expression, I always feel sure he is thinking about thetropical forest where he used to swing by his tail from coconut trees. I wonder who caught him, and if he left a family behind who haddepended on him for coconuts. "

"That is warmer, miss, " said Becky, gratefully; "but, someways, eventhe Bastille is sort of heatin' when you gets to tellin' about it. "

"That is because it makes you think of something else, " said Sara, wrapping the coverlet round her until only her small dark face was tobe seen looking out of it. "I've noticed this. What you have to dowith your mind, when your body is miserable, is to make it think ofsomething else. "

"Can you do it, miss?" faltered Becky, regarding her with admiring eyes. 

Sara knitted her brows a moment. 

"Sometimes I can and sometimes I can't, " she said stoutly. "But when ICAN I'm all right. And what I believe is that we always could--if wepracticed enough. I've been practicing a good deal lately, and it'sbeginning to be easier than it used to be. When things arehorrible--just horrible--I think as hard as ever I can of being aprincess. I say to myself, 'I am a princess, and I am a fairy one, andbecause I am a fairy nothing can hurt me or make me uncomfortable. 'You don't know how it makes you forget"--with a laugh. 

She had many opportunities of making her mind think of something else, and many opportunities of proving to herself whether or not she was aprincess. But one of the strongest tests she was ever put to came on acertain dreadful day which, she often thought afterward, would neverquite fade out of her memory even in the years to come. 

For several days it had rained continuously; the streets were chillyand sloppy and full of dreary, cold mist; there was mudeverywhere--sticky London mud--and over everything the pall of drizzleand fog. Of course there were several long and tiresome errands to bedone--there always were on days like this--and Sara was sent out againand again, until her shabby clothes were damp through. The absurd oldfeathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and absurd than ever, and her downtrodden shoes were so wet that they could not hold any morewater. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, becauseMiss Minchin had chosen to punish her. She was so cold and hungry andtired that her face began to have a pinched look, and now and then somekind-hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her withsudden sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, trying tomake her mind think of something else. It was really very necessary. Her way of doing it was to "pretend" and "suppose" with all thestrength that was left in her. But really this time it was harder thanshe had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made hermore cold and hungry instead of less so. But she perseveredobstinately, and as the muddy water squelched through her broken shoesand the wind seemed trying to drag her thin jacket from her, she talkedto herself as she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even moveher lips. 

"Suppose I had dry clothes on, " she thought. "Suppose I had good shoesand a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. Andsuppose--suppose--just when I was near a baker's where they sold hotbuns, I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. SUPPOSE if Idid, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eatthem all without stopping. "

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. 

It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara. She had to crossthe street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud wasdreadful--she almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully asshe could, but she could not save herself much; only, in picking herway, she had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in lookingdown--just as she reached the pavement--she saw something shining inthe gutter. It was actually a piece of silver--a tiny piece troddenupon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it--a fourpenny piece. 

In one second it was in her cold little red-and-blue hand. 

"Oh, " she gasped, "it is true! It is true!"

And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the shopdirectly facing her. And it was a baker's shop, and a cheerful, stout, motherly woman with rosy cheeks was putting into the window a tray ofdelicious newly baked hot buns, fresh from the oven--large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in them. 

It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds--the shock, and thesight of the buns, and the delightful odors of warm bread floating upthrough the baker's cellar window. 

She knew she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. Ithad evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner wascompletely lost in the stream of passing people who crowded and jostledeach other all day long. 

"But I'll go and ask the baker woman if she has lost anything, " shesaid to herself, rather faintly. So she crossed the pavement and puther wet foot on the step. As she did so she saw something that madeher stop. 

It was a little figure more forlorn even than herself--a little figurewhich was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red muddy feet peeped out, only because the rags with which their ownerwas trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeareda shock head of tangled hair, and a dirty face with big, hollow, hungryeyes. 

Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt asudden sympathy. 

"This, " she said to herself, with a little sigh, "is one of thepopulace--and she is hungrier than I am. "

The child--this "one of the populace"--stared up at Sara, and shuffledherself aside a little, so as to give her room to pass. She was usedto being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policemanchanced to see her he would tell her to "move on. "

Sara clutched her little fourpenny piece and hesitated for a fewseconds. Then she spoke to her. 

"Are you hungry?" she asked. 

The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. 

"Ain't I jist?" she said in a hoarse voice. "Jist ain't I?"

"Haven't you had any dinner?" said Sara. 

"No dinner, " more hoarsely still and with more shuffling. "Nor yet nobre'fast--nor yet no supper. No nothin'. 

"Since when?" asked Sara. 

"Dunno. Never got nothin' today--nowhere. I've axed an' axed. "

Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queerlittle thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking toherself, though she was sick at heart. 

"If I'm a princess, " she was saying, "if I'm a princess--when they werepoor and driven from their thrones--they always shared--with thepopulace--if they met one poorer and hungrier than themselves. Theyalways shared. Buns are a penny each. If it had been sixpence I couldhave eaten six. It won't be enough for either of us. But it will bebetter than nothing. "

"Wait a minute, " she said to the beggar child. 

She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled deliciously. Thewoman was just going to put some more hot buns into the window. 

"If you please, " said Sara, "have you lost fourpence--a silverfourpence?" And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. 

The woman looked at it and then at her--at her intense little face anddraggled, once fine clothes. 

"Bless us, no, " she answered. "Did you find it?"

"Yes, " said Sara. "In the gutter. "

"Keep it, then, " said the woman. "It may have been there for a week, and goodness knows who lost it. YOU could never find out. "

"I know that, " said Sara, "but I thought I would ask you. "

"Not many would, " said the woman, looking puzzled and interested andgood-natured all at once. 

"Do you want to buy something?" she added, as she saw Sara glance atthe buns. 

"Four buns, if you please, " said Sara. "Those at a penny each. "

The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. 

Sara noticed that she put in six. 

"I said four, if you please, " she explained. "I have only fourpence. "

"I'll throw in two for makeweight, " said the woman with hergood-natured look. "I dare say you can eat them sometime. Aren't youhungry?"

A mist rose before Sara's eyes. 

"Yes, " she answered. "I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to youfor your kindness; and"--she was going to add--"there is a childoutside who is hungrier than I am. " But just at that moment two orthree customers came in at once, and each one seemed in a hurry, so shecould only thank the woman again and go out. 

The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step. Shelooked frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring straightbefore her with a stupid look of suffering, and Sara saw her suddenlydraw the back of her roughened black hand across her eyes to rub awaythe tears which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way fromunder her lids. She was muttering to herself. 

Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which hadalready warmed her own cold hands a little. 

"See, " she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, "this is nice andhot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry. "

The child started and stared up at her, as if such sudden, amazing goodluck almost frightened her; then she snatched up the bun and began tocram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. 

"Oh, my! Oh, my!" Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. "OHmy!"

Sara took out three more buns and put them down. 

The sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful. 

"She is hungrier than I am, " she said to herself. "She's starving. "But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. "I'm notstarving, " she said--and she put down the fifth. 

The little ravening London savage was still snatching and devouringwhen she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even ifshe had ever been taught politeness--which she had not. She was only apoor little wild animal. 

"Good-bye, " said Sara. 

When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. Thechild had a bun in each hand and had stopped in the middle of a bite towatch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after anotherstare--a curious lingering stare--jerked her shaggy head in response, and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or evenfinish the one she had begun. 

At that moment the baker-woman looked out of her shop window. 

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If that young un hasn't given herbuns to a beggar child! It wasn't because she didn't want them, either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something toknow what she did it for. "

She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then hercuriosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke to thebeggar child. 

"Who gave you those buns?" she asked her. The child nodded her headtoward Sara's vanishing figure. 

"What did she say?" inquired the woman. 

"Axed me if I was 'ungry, " replied the hoarse voice. 

"What did you say?"

"Said I was jist. "

"And then she came in and got the buns, and gave them to you, did she?"

The child nodded. 

"How many?"

"Five. "

The woman thought it over. 

"Left just one for herself, " she said in a low voice. "And she couldhave eaten the whole six--I saw it in her eyes. "

She looked after the little draggled far-away figure and felt moredisturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many aday. 

"I wish she hadn't gone so quick, " she said. "I'm blest if sheshouldn't have had a dozen. " Then she turned to the child. 

"Are you hungry yet?" she said. 

"I'm allus hungry, " was the answer, "but 't ain't as bad as it was. "

"Come in here, " said the woman, and she held open the shop door. 

The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place fullof bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was goingto happen. She did not care, even. 

"Get yourself warm, " said the woman, pointing to a fire in the tinyback room. "And look here; when you are hard up for a bit of bread, you can come in here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it toyou for that young one's sake. "

 * * *

Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. At all events, it wasvery hot, and it was better than nothing. As she walked along shebroke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer. 

"Suppose it was a magic bun, " she said, "and a bite was as much as awhole dinner. I should be overeating myself if I went on like this. "

It was dark when she reached the square where the Select Seminary wassituated. The lights in the houses were all lighted. The blinds werenot yet drawn in the windows of the room where she nearly always caughtglimpses of members of the Large Family. Frequently at this hour shecould see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a bigchair, with a small swarm round him, talking, laughing, perching on thearms of his seat or on his knees or leaning against them. This eveningthe swarm was about him, but he was not seated. On the contrary, therewas a good deal of excitement going on. It was evident that a journeywas to be taken, and it was Mr. Montmorency who was to take it. Abrougham stood before the door, and a big portmanteau had been strappedupon it. The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on totheir father. The pretty rosy mother was standing near him, talking asif she was asking final questions. Sara paused a moment to see thelittle ones lifted up and kissed and the bigger ones bent over andkissed also. 

"I wonder if he will stay away long, " she thought. "The portmanteau israther big. Oh, dear, how they will miss him! I shall miss himmyself--even though he doesn't know I am alive. "

When the door opened she moved away--remembering the sixpence--but shesaw the traveler come out and stand against the background of thewarmly-lighted hall, the older children still hovering about him. 

"Will Moscow be covered with snow?" said the little girl Janet. "Willthere be ice everywhere?"

"Shall you drive in a drosky?" cried another. "Shall you see the Czar?"

"I will write and tell you all about it, " he answered, laughing. "AndI will send you pictures of muzhiks and things. Run into the house. Itis a hideous damp night. I would rather stay with you than go toMoscow. Good night! Good night, duckies! God bless you!" And he randown the steps and jumped into the brougham. 

"If you find the little girl, give her our love, " shouted Guy Clarence, jumping up and down on the door mat. 

Then they went in and shut the door. 

"Did you see, " said Janet to Nora, as they went back to the room--"thelittle-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar was passing? She looked all cold andwet, and I saw her turn her head over her shoulder and look at us. Mamma says her clothes always look as if they had been given her bysomeone who was quite rich--someone who only let her have them becausethey were too shabby to wear. The people at the school always send herout on errands on the horridest days and nights there are. "

Sara crossed the square to Miss Minchin's area steps, feeling faint andshaky. 

"I wonder who the little girl is, " she thought--"the little girl he isgoing to look for. "

And she went down the area steps, lugging her basket and finding itvery heavy indeed, as the father of the Large Family drove quickly onhis way to the station to take the train which was to carry him toMoscow, where he was to make his best efforts to search for the lostlittle daughter of Captain Crewe. 

14

What Melchisedec Heard and Saw

On this very afternoon, while Sara was out, a strange thing happened inthe attic. Only Melchisedec saw and heard it; and he was so muchalarmed and mystified that he scuttled back to his hole and hid there, and really quaked and trembled as he peeped out furtively and withgreat caution to watch what was going on. 

The attic had been very still all the day after Sara had left it in theearly morning. The stillness had only been broken by the pattering ofthe rain upon the slates and the skylight. Melchisedec had, in fact, found it rather dull; and when the rain ceased to patter and perfectsilence reigned, he decided to come out and reconnoiter, thoughexperience taught him that Sara would not return for some time. He hadbeen rambling and sniffing about, and had just found a totallyunexpected and unexplained crumb left from his last meal, when hisattention was attracted by a sound on the roof. He stopped to listenwith a palpitating heart. The sound suggested that something was movingon the roof. It was approaching the skylight; it reached the skylight. The skylight was being mysteriously opened. A dark face peered intothe attic; then another face appeared behind it, and both looked inwith signs of caution and interest. Two men were outside on the roof, and were making silent preparations to enter through the skylightitself. One was Ram Dass and the other was a young man who was theIndian gentleman's secretary; but of course Melchisedec did not knowthis. He only knew that the men were invading the silence and privacyof the attic; and as the one with the dark face let himself downthrough the aperture with such lightness and dexterity that he did notmake the slightest sound, Melchisedec turned tail and fledprecipitately back to his hole. He was frightened to death. He hadceased to be timid with Sara, and knew she would never throw anythingbut crumbs, and would never make any sound other than the soft, low, coaxing whistling; but strange men were dangerous things to remainnear. He lay close and flat near the entrance of his home, justmanaging to peep through the crack with a bright, alarmed eye. How muchhe understood of the talk he heard I am not in the least able to say;but, even if he had understood it all, he would probably have remainedgreatly mystified. 

The secretary, who was light and young, slipped through the skylight asnoiselessly as Ram Dass had done; and he caught a last glimpse ofMelchisedec's vanishing tail. 

"Was that a rat?" he asked Ram Dass in a whisper. 

"Yes; a rat, Sahib, " answered Ram Dass, also whispering. "There aremany in the walls. "

"Ugh!" exclaimed the young man. "It is a wonder the child is notterrified of them. "

Ram Dass made a gesture with his hands. He also smiled respectfully. He was in this place as the intimate exponent of Sara, though she hadonly spoken to him once. 

"The child is the little friend of all things, Sahib, " he answered. "She is not as other children. I see her when she does not see me. Islip across the slates and look at her many nights to see that she issafe. I watch her from my window when she does not know I am near. Shestands on the table there and looks out at the sky as if it spoke toher. The sparrows come at her call. The rat she has fed and tamed inher loneliness. The poor slave of the house comes to her for comfort. There is a little child who comes to her in secret; there is one olderwho worships her and would listen to her forever if she might. This Ihave seen when I have crept across the roof. By the mistress of thehouse--who is an evil woman--she is treated like a pariah; but she hasthe bearing of a child who is of the blood of kings!"

"You seem to know a great deal about her, " the secretary said. 

"All her life each day I know, " answered Ram Dass. "Her going out Iknow, and her coming in; her sadness and her poor joys; her coldnessand her hunger. I know when she is alone until midnight, learning fromher books; I know when her secret friends steal to her and she ishappier--as children can be, even in the midst of poverty--because theycome and she may laugh and talk with them in whispers. If she were illI should know, and I would come and serve her if it might be done. "

"You are sure no one comes near this place but herself, and that shewill not return and surprise us. She would be frightened if she foundus here, and the Sahib Carrisford's plan would be spoiled. "

Ram Dass crossed noiselessly to the door and stood close to it. 

"None mount here but herself, Sahib, " he said. "She has gone out withher basket and may be gone for hours. If I stand here I can hear anystep before it reaches the last flight of the stairs. "

The secretary took a pencil and a tablet from his breast pocket. 

"Keep your ears open, " he said; and he began to walk slowly and softlyround the miserable little room, making rapid notes on his tablet as helooked at things. 

First he went to the narrow bed. He pressed his hand upon the mattressand uttered an exclamation. 

"As hard as a stone, " he said. "That will have to be altered some daywhen she is out. A special journey can be made to bring it across. Itcannot be done tonight. " He lifted the covering and examined the onethin pillow. 

"Coverlet dingy and worn, blanket thin, sheets patched and ragged, " hesaid. "What a bed for a child to sleep in--and in a house which callsitself respectable! There has not been a fire in that grate for many aday, " glancing at the rusty fireplace. 

"Never since I have seen it, " said Ram Dass. "The mistress of thehouse is not one who remembers that another than herself may be cold. "

The secretary was writing quickly on his tablet. He looked up from itas he tore off a leaf and slipped it into his breast pocket. 

"It is a strange way of doing the thing, " he said. "Who planned it?"

Ram Dass made a modestly apologetic obeisance. 

"It is true that the first thought was mine, Sahib, " he said; "thoughit was naught but a fancy. I am fond of this child; we are bothlonely. It is her way to relate her visions to her secret friends. Being sad one night, I lay close to the open skylight and listened. Thevision she related told what this miserable room might be if it hadcomforts in it. She seemed to see it as she talked, and she grewcheered and warmed as she spoke. Then she came to this fancy; and thenext day, the Sahib being ill and wretched, I told him of the thing toamuse him. It seemed then but a dream, but it pleased the Sahib. Tohear of the child's doings gave him entertainment. He became interestedin her and asked questions. At last he began to please himself withthe thought of making her visions real things. "

"You think that it can be done while she sleeps? Suppose sheawakened, " suggested the secretary; and it was evident that whatsoeverthe plan referred to was, it had caught and pleased his fancy as wellas the Sahib Carrisford's. 

"I can move as if my feet were of velvet, " Ram Dass replied; "andchildren sleep soundly--even the unhappy ones. I could have enteredthis room in the night many times, and without causing her to turn uponher pillow. If the other bearer passes to me the things through thewindow, I can do all and she will not stir. When she awakens she willthink a magician has been here. "

He smiled as if his heart warmed under his white robe, and thesecretary smiled back at him. 

"It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights, " he said. "Only anOriental could have planned it. It does not belong to London fogs. "

They did not remain very long, to the great relief of Melchisedec, who, as he probably did not comprehend their conversation, felt theirmovements and whispers ominous. The young secretary seemed interestedin everything. He wrote down things about the floor, the fireplace, the broken footstool, the old table, the walls--which last he touchedwith his hand again and again, seeming much pleased when he found thata number of old nails had been driven in various places. 

"You can hang things on them, " he said. 

Ram Dass smiled mysteriously. 

"Yesterday, when she was out, " he said, "I entered, bringing with mesmall, sharp nails which can be pressed into the wall without blowsfrom a hammer. I placed many in the plaster where I may need them. They are ready. "

The Indian gentleman's secretary stood still and looked round him as hethrust his tablets back into his pocket. 

"I think I have made notes enough; we can go now, " he said. "The SahibCarrisford has a warm heart. It is a thousand pities that he has notfound the lost child. "

"If he should find her his strength would be restored to him, " said RamDass. "His God may lead her to him yet. "

Then they slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as they hadentered it. And, after he was quite sure they had gone, Melchisedecwas greatly relieved, and in the course of a few minutes felt it safeto emerge from his hole again and scuffle about in the hope that evensuch alarming human beings as these might have chanced to carry crumbsin their pockets and drop one or two of them. 

15

The Magic

When Sara had passed the house next door she had seen Ram Dass closingthe shutters, and caught her glimpse of this room also. 

"It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside, " was thethought which crossed her mind. 

There was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indiangentleman was sitting before it. His head was resting in his hand, andhe looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. 

"Poor man!" said Sara. "I wonder what you are supposing. "

And this was what he was "supposing" at that very moment. 

"Suppose, " he was thinking, "suppose--even if Carmichael traces thepeople to Moscow--the little girl they took from Madame Pascal's schoolin Paris is NOT the one we are in search of. Suppose she proves to bequite a different child. What steps shall I take next?"

When Sara went into the house she met Miss Minchin, who had comedownstairs to scold the cook. 

"Where have you wasted your time?" she demanded. "You have been outfor hours. "

"It was so wet and muddy, " Sara answered, "it was hard to walk, becausemy shoes were so bad and slipped about. "

"Make no excuses, " said Miss Minchin, "and tell no falsehoods. "

Sara went in to the cook. The cook had received a severe lecture andwas in a fearful temper as a result. She was only too rejoiced to havesomeone to vent her rage on, and Sara was a convenience, as usual. 

"Why didn't you stay all night?" she snapped. 

Sara laid her purchases on the table. 

"Here are the things, " she said. 

The cook looked them over, grumbling. She was in a very savage humorindeed. 

"May I have something to eat?" Sara asked rather faintly. 

"Tea's over and done with, " was the answer. "Did you expect me to keepit hot for you?"

Sara stood silent for a second. 

"I had no dinner, " she said next, and her voice was quite low. Shemade it low because she was afraid it would tremble. 

"There's some bread in the pantry, " said the cook. "That's all you'llget at this time of day. "

Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cookwas in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat with it. It wasalways safe and easy to vent her spite on Sara. Really, it was hardfor the child to climb the three long flights of stairs leading to herattic. She often found them long and steep when she was tired; buttonight it seemed as if she would never reach the top. Several timesshe was obliged to stop to rest. When she reached the top landing shewas glad to see the glimmer of a light coming from under her door. That meant that Ermengarde had managed to creep up to pay her a visit. There was some comfort in that. It was better than to go into the roomalone and find it empty and desolate. The mere presence of plump, comfortable Ermengarde, wrapped in her red shawl, would warm it alittle. 

Yes; there Ermengarde was when she opened the door. She was sitting inthe middle of the bed, with her feet tucked safely under her. She hadnever become intimate with Melchisedec and his family, though theyrather fascinated her. When she found herself alone in the attic shealways preferred to sit on the bed until Sara arrived. She had, infact, on this occasion had time to become rather nervous, becauseMelchisedec had appeared and sniffed about a good deal, and once hadmade her utter a repressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and, while he looked at her, sniffing pointedly in her direction. 

"Oh, Sara, " she cried out, "I am glad you have come. Melchy WOULDsniff about so. I tried to coax him to go back, but he wouldn't forsuch a long time. I like him, you know; but it does frighten me whenhe sniffs right at me. Do you think he ever WOULD jump?"

"No, " answered Sara. 

Ermengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her. 

"You DO look tired, Sara, " she said; "you are quite pale. "

"I AM tired, " said Sara, dropping on to the lopsided footstool. "Oh, there's Melchisedec, poor thing. He's come to ask for his supper. "

Melchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been listening forher footstep. Sara was quite sure he knew it. He came forward with anaffectionate, expectant expression as Sara put her hand in her pocketand turned it inside out, shaking her head. 

"I'm very sorry, " she said. "I haven't one crumb left. Go home, Melchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing in my pocket. I'mafraid I forgot because the cook and Miss Minchin were so cross. "

Melchisedec seemed to understand. He shuffled resignedly, if notcontentedly, back to his home. 

"I did not expect to see you tonight, Ermie, " Sara said. Ermengardehugged herself in the red shawl. 

"Miss Amelia has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt, " sheexplained. "No one else ever comes and looks into the bedrooms afterwe are in bed. I could stay here until morning if I wanted to. "

She pointed toward the table under the skylight. Sara had not lookedtoward it as she came in. A number of books were piled upon it. Ermengarde's gesture was a dejected one. 

"Papa has sent me some more books, Sara, " she said. "There they are. "

Sara looked round and got up at once. She ran to the table, andpicking up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. For themoment she forgot her discomforts. 

"Ah, " she cried out, "how beautiful! Carlyle's French Revolution. Ihave SO wanted to read that!"

"I haven't, " said Ermengarde. "And papa will be so cross if I don't. He'll expect me to know all about it when I go home for the holidays. What SHALL I do?"

Sara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with an excitedflush on her cheeks. 

"Look here, " she cried, "if you'll lend me these books, _I'll_ readthem--and tell you everything that's in them afterward--and I'll tellit so that you will remember it, too. "

"Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Ermengarde. "Do you think you can?"

"I know I can, " Sara answered. "The little ones always remember what Itell them. "

"Sara, " said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round face, "if you'll dothat, and make me remember, I'll--I'll give you anything. "

"I don't want you to give me anything, " said Sara. "I want yourbooks--I want them!" And her eyes grew big, and her chest heaved. 

"Take them, then, " said Ermengarde. "I wish I wanted them--but Idon't. I'm not clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be. "

Sara was opening one book after the other. "What are you going to tellyour father?" she asked, a slight doubt dawning in her mind. 

"Oh, he needn't know, " answered Ermengarde. "He'll think I've readthem. "

Sara put down her book and shook her head slowly. "That's almost liketelling lies, " she said. "And lies--well, you see, they are not onlywicked--they're VULGAR. Sometimes"--reflectively--"I've thought perhapsI might do something wicked--I might suddenly fly into a rage and killMiss Minchin, you know, when she was ill-treating me--but I COULDN'T bevulgar. Why can't you tell your father _I_ read them?"

"He wants me to read them, " said Ermengarde, a little discouraged bythis unexpected turn of affairs. 

"He wants you to know what is in them, " said Sara. "And if I can tellit to you in an easy way and make you remember it, I should think hewould like that. "

"He'll like it if I learn anything in ANY way, " said rueful Ermengarde. "You would if you were my father. "

"It's not your fault that--" began Sara. She pulled herself up andstopped rather suddenly. She had been going to say, "It's not yourfault that you are stupid. "

"That what?" Ermengarde asked. 

"That you can't learn things quickly, " amended Sara. "If you can't, you can't. If I can--why, I can; that's all. "

She always felt very tender of Ermengarde, and tried not to let herfeel too strongly the difference between being able to learn anythingat once, and not being able to learn anything at all. As she looked ather plump face, one of her wise, old-fashioned thoughts came to her. 

"Perhaps, " she said, "to be able to learn things quickly isn'teverything. To be kind is worth a great deal to other people. If MissMinchin knew everything on earth and was like what she is now, she'dstill be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots ofclever people have done harm and have been wicked. Look atRobespierre--"

She stopped and examined Ermengarde's countenance, which was beginningto look bewildered. "Don't you remember?" she demanded. "I told youabout him not long ago. I believe you've forgotten. "

"Well, I don't remember ALL of it, " admitted Ermengarde. 

"Well, you wait a minute, " said Sara, "and I'll take off my wet thingsand wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you over again. "

She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail against the wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old pair of slippers. Then shejumped on the bed, and drawing the coverlet about her shoulders, satwith her arms round her knees. "Now, listen, " she said. 

She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, and toldsuch stories of it that Ermengarde's eyes grew round with alarm and sheheld her breath. But though she was rather terrified, there was adelightful thrill in listening, and she was not likely to forgetRobespierre again, or to have any doubts about the Princesse deLamballe. 

"You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it, " Saraexplained. "And she had beautiful floating blonde hair; and when Ithink of her, I never see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious people dancing and howling. "

It was agreed that Mr. St. John was to be told the plan they had made, and for the present the books were to be left in the attic. 

"Now let's tell each other things, " said Sara. "How are you getting onwith your French lessons?"

"Ever so much better since the last time I came up here and youexplained the conjugations. Miss Minchin could not understand why Idid my exercises so well that first morning. "

Sara laughed a little and hugged her knees. 

"She doesn't understand why Lottie is doing her sums so well, " shesaid; "but it is because she creeps up here, too, and I help her. " Sheglanced round the room. "The attic would be rather nice--if it wasn'tso dreadful, " she said, laughing again. "It's a good place to pretendin. "

The truth was that Ermengarde did not know anything of the sometimesalmost unbearable side of life in the attic and she had not asufficiently vivid imagination to depict it for herself. On the rareoccasions that she could reach Sara's room she only saw the side of itwhich was made exciting by things which were "pretended" and storieswhich were told. Her visits partook of the character of adventures;and though sometimes Sara looked rather pale, and it was not to bedenied that she had grown very thin, her proud little spirit would notadmit of complaints. She had never confessed that at times she wasalmost ravenous with hunger, as she was tonight. She was growingrapidly, and her constant walking and running about would have givenher a keen appetite even if she had had abundant and regular meals of amuch more nourishing nature than the unappetizing, inferior foodsnatched at such odd times as suited the kitchen convenience. She wasgrowing used to a certain gnawing feeling in her young stomach. 

"I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long and wearymarch, " she often said to herself. She liked the sound of the phrase, "long and weary march. " It made her feel rather like a soldier. Shehad also a quaint sense of being a hostess in the attic. 

"If I lived in a castle, " she argued, "and Ermengarde was the lady ofanother castle, and came to see me, with knights and squires andvassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when I heard the clarionssounding outside the drawbridge I should go down to receive her, and Ishould spread feasts in the banquet hall and call in minstrels to singand play and relate romances. When she comes into the attic I can'tspread feasts, but I can tell stories, and not let her knowdisagreeable things. I dare say poor chatelaines had to do that intime of famine, when their lands had been pillaged. " She was a proud, brave little chatelaine, and dispensed generously the one hospitalityshe could offer--the dreams she dreamed--the visions she saw--theimaginings which were her joy and comfort. 

So, as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that she was faint aswell as ravenous, and that while she talked she now and then wonderedif her hunger would let her sleep when she was left alone. She felt asif she had never been quite so hungry before. 

"I wish I was as thin as you, Sara, " Ermengarde said suddenly. "Ibelieve you are thinner than you used to be. Your eyes look so big, and look at the sharp little bones sticking out of your elbow!"

Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up. 

"I always was a thin child, " she said bravely, "and I always had biggreen eyes. "

"I love your queer eyes, " said Ermengarde, looking into them withaffectionate admiration. "They always look as if they saw such a longway. I love them--and I love them to be green--though they look blackgenerally. "

"They are cat's eyes, " laughed Sara; "but I can't see in the dark withthem--because I have tried, and I couldn't--I wish I could. "

It was just at this minute that something happened at the skylightwhich neither of them saw. If either of them had chanced to turn andlook, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face whichpeered cautiously into the room and disappeared as quickly and almostas silently as it had appeared. Not QUITE as silently, however. Sara, who had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof. 

"That didn't sound like Melchisedec, " she said. "It wasn't scratchyenough. "

"What?" said Ermengarde, a little startled. 

"Didn't you think you heard something?" asked Sara. 

"N-no, " Ermengarde faltered. "Did you?" {another ed. Has "No-no, "}

"Perhaps I didn't, " said Sara; "but I thought I did. It sounded as ifsomething was on the slates--something that dragged softly. "

"What could it be?" said Ermengarde. "Could it be--robbers?"

"No, " Sara began cheerfully. "There is nothing to steal--"

She broke off in the middle of her words. They both heard the soundthat checked her. It was not on the slates, but on the stairs below, and it was Miss Minchin's angry voice. Sara sprang off the bed, andput out the candle. 

"She is scolding Becky, " she whispered, as she stood in the darkness. "She is making her cry. "

"Will she come in here?" Ermengarde whispered back, panic-stricken. 

"No. She will think I am in bed. Don't stir. "

It was very seldom that Miss Minchin mounted the last flight of stairs. Sara could only remember that she had done it once before. But now shewas angry enough to be coming at least part of the way up, and itsounded as if she was driving Becky before her. 

"You impudent, dishonest child!" they heard her say. "Cook tells meshe has missed things repeatedly. "

"'T warn't me, mum, " said Becky sobbing. "I was 'ungry enough, but 'twarn't me--never!"

"You deserve to be sent to prison, " said Miss Minchin's voice. "Picking and stealing! Half a meat pie, indeed!"

"'T warn't me, " wept Becky. "I could 'ave eat a whole un--but I neverlaid a finger on it. "

Miss Minchin was out of breath between temper and mounting the stairs. The meat pie had been intended for her special late supper. It becameapparent that she boxed Becky's ears. 

"Don't tell falsehoods, " she said. "Go to your room this instant. "

Both Sara and Ermengarde heard the slap, and then heard Becky run inher slipshod shoes up the stairs and into her attic. They heard herdoor shut, and knew that she threw herself upon her bed. 

"I could 'ave e't two of 'em, " they heard her cry into her pillow. "An'I never took a bite. 'Twas cook give it to her policeman. "

Sara stood in the middle of the room in the darkness. She wasclenching her little teeth and opening and shutting fiercely heroutstretched hands. She could scarcely stand still, but she dared notmove until Miss Minchin had gone down the stairs and all was still. 

"The wicked, cruel thing!" she burst forth. "The cook takes thingsherself and then says Becky steals them. She DOESN'T! She DOESN'T!She's so hungry sometimes that she eats crusts out of the ash barrel!"She pressed her hands hard against her face and burst into passionatelittle sobs, and Ermengarde, hearing this unusual thing, was overawedby it. Sara was crying! The unconquerable Sara! It seemed to denotesomething new--some mood she had never known. Suppose--suppose--a newdread possibility presented itself to her kind, slow, little mind allat once. She crept off the bed in the dark and found her way to thetable where the candle stood. She struck a match and lit the candle. When she had lighted it, she bent forward and looked at Sara, with hernew thought growing to definite fear in her eyes. 

"Sara, " she said in a timid, almost awe-stricken voice, "are--are--younever told me--I don't want to be rude, but--are YOU ever hungry?"

It was too much just at that moment. The barrier broke down. Saralifted her face from her hands. 

"Yes, " she said in a new passionate way. "Yes, I am. I'm so hungrynow that I could almost eat you. And it makes it worse to hear poorBecky. She's hungrier than I am. "

Ermengarde gasped. 

"Oh, oh!" she cried woefully. "And I never knew!"

"I didn't want you to know, " Sara said. "It would have made me feellike a street beggar. I know I look like a street beggar. "

"No, you don't--you don't!" Ermengarde broke in. "Your clothes are alittle queer--but you couldn't look like a street beggar. You haven'ta street-beggar face. "

"A little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity, " said Sara, with ashort little laugh in spite of herself. "Here it is. " And she pulledout the thin ribbon from her neck. "He wouldn't have given me hisChristmas sixpence if I hadn't looked as if I needed it. "

Somehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good for both ofthem. It made them laugh a little, though they both had tears in theireyes. 

"Who was he?" asked Ermengarde, looking at it quite as if it had notbeen a mere ordinary silver sixpence. 

"He was a darling little thing going to a party, " said Sara. "He wasone of the Large Family, the little one with the round legs--the one Icall Guy Clarence. I suppose his nursery was crammed with Christmaspresents and hampers full of cakes and things, and he could see I hadnothing. "

Ermengarde gave a little jump backward. The last sentences hadrecalled something to her troubled mind and given her a suddeninspiration. 

"Oh, Sara!" she cried. "What a silly thing I am not to have thought ofit!"

"Of what?"

"Something splendid!" said Ermengarde, in an excited hurry. "This veryafternoon my nicest aunt sent me a box. It is full of good things. Inever touched it, I had so much pudding at dinner, and I was sobothered about papa's books. " Her words began to tumble over eachother. "It's got cake in it, and little meat pies, and jam tarts andbuns, and oranges and red-currant wine, and figs and chocolate. I'llcreep back to my room and get it this minute, and we'll eat it now. "

Sara almost reeled. When one is faint with hunger the mention of foodhas sometimes a curious effect. She clutched Ermengarde's arm. 

"Do you think--you COULD?" she ejaculated. 

"I know I could, " answered Ermengarde, and she ran to the door--openedit softly--put her head out into the darkness, and listened. Then shewent back to Sara. "The lights are out. Everybody's in bed. I cancreep--and creep--and no one will hear. "

It was so delightful that they caught each other's hands and a suddenlight sprang into Sara's eyes. 

"Ermie!" she said. "Let us PRETEND! Let us pretend it's a party! Andoh, won't you invite the prisoner in the next cell?"

"Yes! Yes! Let us knock on the wall now. The jailer won't hear. "

Sara went to the wall. Through it she could hear poor Becky cryingmore softly. She knocked four times. 

"That means, 'Come to me through the secret passage under the wall, 'she explained. 'I have something to communicate. '"

Five quick knocks answered her. 

"She is coming, " she said. 

Almost immediately the door of the attic opened and Becky appeared. Hereyes were red and her cap was sliding off, and when she caught sight ofErmengarde she began to rub her face nervously with her apron. 

"Don't mind me a bit, Becky!" cried Ermengarde. 

"Miss Ermengarde has asked you to come in, " said Sara, "because she isgoing to bring a box of good things up here to us. "

Becky's cap almost fell off entirely, she broke in with such excitement. 

"To eat, miss?" she said. "Things that's good to eat?"

"Yes, " answered Sara, "and we are going to pretend a party. "

"And you shall have as much as you WANT to eat, " put in Ermengarde. "I'll go this minute!"

She was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic she droppedher red shawl and did not know it had fallen. No one saw it for aminute or so. Becky was too much overpowered by the good luck whichhad befallen her. 

"Oh, miss! oh, miss!" she gasped; "I know it was you that asked her tolet me come. It--it makes me cry to think of it. " And she went toSara's side and stood and looked at her worshipingly. 

But in Sara's hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow and transformher world for her. Here in the attic--with the cold nightoutside--with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed--withthe memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar child's eyes not yetfaded--this simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic. 

She caught her breath. 

"Somehow, something always happens, " she cried, "just before things getto the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If I could only justremember that always. The worst thing never QUITE comes. "

She gave Becky a little cheerful shake. 

"No, no! You mustn't cry!" she said. "We must make haste and set thetable. "

"Set the table, miss?" said Becky, gazing round the room. "What'll weset it with?"

Sara looked round the attic, too. 

"There doesn't seem to be much, " she answered, half laughing. 

That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. It was Ermengarde'sred shawl which lay upon the floor. 

"Here's the shawl, " she cried. "I know she won't mind it. It will makesuch a nice red tablecloth. "

They pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl over it. Red isa wonderfully kind and comfortable color. It began to make the roomlook furnished directly. 

"How nice a red rug would look on the floor!" exclaimed Sara. "We mustpretend there is one!"

Her eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration. Therug was laid down already. 

"How soft and thick it is!" she said, with the little laugh which Beckyknew the meaning of; and she raised and set her foot down againdelicately, as if she felt something under it. 

"Yes, miss, " answered Becky, watching her with serious rapture. Shewas always quite serious. 

"What next, now?" said Sara, and she stood still and put her hands overher eyes. "Something will come if I think and wait a little"--in asoft, expectant voice. "The Magic will tell me. "

One of her favorite fancies was that on "the outside, " as she calledit, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Becky had seen herstand and wait many a time before, and knew that in a few seconds shewould uncover an enlightened, laughing face. 

In a moment she did. 

"There!" she cried. "It has come! I know now! I must look among thethings in the old trunk I had when I was a princess. "

She flew to its corner and kneeled down. It had not been put in theattic for her benefit, but because there was no room for it elsewhere. Nothing had been left in it but rubbish. But she knew she should findsomething. The Magic always arranged that kind of thing in one way oranother. 

In a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking that it had beenoverlooked, and when she herself had found it she had kept it as arelic. It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs. She seizedthem joyfully and ran to the table. She began to arrange them upon thered table-cover, patting and coaxing them into shape with the narrowlace edge curling outward, her Magic working its spells for her as shedid it. 

"These are the plates, " she said. "They are golden plates. These arethe richly embroidered napkins. Nuns worked them in convents in Spain. "

"Did they, miss?" breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by theinformation. 

"You must pretend it, " said Sara. "If you pretend it enough, you willsee them. "

"Yes, miss, " said Becky; and as Sara returned to the trunk she devotedherself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to be desired. 

Sara turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking veryqueer indeed. She had shut her eyes, and was twisting her face instrange convulsive contortions, her hands hanging stiffly clenched ather sides. She looked as if she was trying to lift some enormousweight. 

"What is the matter, Becky?" Sara cried. "What are you doing?"

Becky opened her eyes with a start. 

"I was a-'pretendin', ' miss, " she answered a little sheepishly; "I wastryin' to see it like you do. I almost did, " with a hopeful grin. "Butit takes a lot o' stren'th. "

"Perhaps it does if you are not used to it, " said Sara, with friendlysympathy; "but you don't know how easy it is when you've done it often. I wouldn't try so hard just at first. It will come to you after awhile. I'll just tell you what things are. Look at these. "

She held an old summer hat in her hand which she had fished out of thebottom of the trunk. There was a wreath of flowers on it. She pulledthe wreath off. 

"These are garlands for the feast, " she said grandly. "They fill allthe air with perfume. There's a mug on the wash-stand, Becky. Oh--andbring the soap dish for a centerpiece. "

Becky handed them to her reverently. 

"What are they now, miss?" she inquired. "You'd think they was made ofcrockery--but I know they ain't. "

"This is a carven flagon, " said Sara, arranging tendrils of the wreathabout the mug. "And this"--bending tenderly over the soap dish andheaping it with roses--"is purest alabaster encrusted with gems. "

She touched the things gently, a happy smile hovering about her lipswhich made her look as if she were a creature in a dream. 

"My, ain't it lovely!" whispered Becky. 

"If we just had something for bonbon dishes, " Sara murmured. "There!"--darting to the trunk again. "I remember I saw something thisminute. "

It was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissue paper, butthe tissue paper was soon twisted into the form of little dishes, andwas combined with the remaining flowers to ornament the candlestickwhich was to light the feast. Only the Magic could have made it morethan an old table covered with a red shawl and set with rubbish from along-unopened trunk. But Sara drew back and gazed at it, seeingwonders; and Becky, after staring in delight, spoke with bated breath. 

"This 'ere, " she suggested, with a glance round the attic--"is it theBastille now--or has it turned into somethin' different?"

"Oh, yes, yes!" said Sara. "Quite different. It is a banquet hall!"

"My eye, miss!" ejaculated Becky. "A blanket 'all!" and she turned toview the splendors about her with awed bewilderment. 

"A banquet hall, " said Sara. "A vast chamber where feasts are given. It has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels' gallery, and a huge chimneyfilled with blazing oaken logs, and it is brilliant with waxen taperstwinkling on every side. "

"My eye, Miss Sara!" gasped Becky again. 

Then the door opened, and Ermengarde came in, rather staggering underthe weight of her hamper. She started back with an exclamation of joy. To enter from the chill darkness outside, and find one's selfconfronted by a totally unanticipated festal board, draped with red, adorned with white napery, and wreathed with flowers, was to feel thatthe preparations were brilliant indeed. 

"Oh, Sara!" she cried out. "You are the cleverest girl I ever saw!"

"Isn't it nice?" said Sara. "They are things out of my old trunk. Iasked my Magic, and it told me to go and look. "

"But oh, miss, " cried Becky, "wait till she's told you what they are!They ain't just--oh, miss, please tell her, " appealing to Sara. 

So Sara told her, and because her Magic helped her she made her ALMOSTsee it all: the golden platters--the vaulted spaces--the blazinglogs--the twinkling waxen tapers. As the things were taken out of thehamper--the frosted cakes--the fruits--the bonbons and the wine--thefeast became a splendid thing. 

"It's like a real party!" cried Ermengarde. 

"It's like a queen's table, " sighed Becky. 

Then Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought. 

"I'll tell you what, Sara, " she said. "Pretend you are a princess nowand this is a royal feast. "

"But it's your feast, " said Sara; "you must be the princess, and wewill be your maids of honor. "

"Oh, I can't, " said Ermengarde. "I'm too fat, and I don't know how. YOU be her. "

"Well, if you want me to, " said Sara. 

But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate. 

"There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!" she exclaimed. "If we light it, there will be a bright blaze for a few minutes, and weshall feel as if it was a real fire. " She struck a match and lightedit up with a great specious glow which illuminated the room. 

"By the time it stops blazing, " Sara said, "we shall forget about itsnot being real. "

She stood in the dancing glow and smiled. 

"Doesn't it LOOK real?" she said. "Now we will begin the party. "

She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously toErmengarde and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream. 

"Advance, fair damsels, " she said in her happy dream-voice, "and beseated at the banquet table. My noble father, the king, who is absenton a long journey, has commanded me to feast you. " She turned her headslightly toward the corner of the room. "What, ho, there, minstrels!Strike up with your viols and bassoons. Princesses, " she explainedrapidly to Ermengarde and Becky, "always had minstrels to play at theirfeasts. Pretend there is a minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we will begin. "

They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into theirhands--not one of them had time to do more, when--they all three sprangto their feet and turned pale faces toward thedoor--listening--listening. 

Someone was coming up the stairs. There was no mistake about it. Eachof them recognized the angry, mounting tread and knew that the end ofall things had come. 

"It's--the missus!" choked Becky, and dropped her piece of cake uponthe floor. 

"Yes, " said Sara, her eyes growing shocked and large in her small whiteface. "Miss Minchin has found us out. "

Miss Minchin struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She was paleherself, but it was with rage. She looked from the frightened faces tothe banquet table, and from the banquet table to the last flicker ofthe burnt paper in the grate. 

"I have been suspecting something of this sort, " she exclaimed; "but Idid not dream of such audacity. Lavinia was telling the truth. "

So they knew that it was Lavinia who had somehow guessed their secretand had betrayed them. Miss Minchin strode over to Becky and boxed herears for a second time. 

"You impudent creature!" she said. "You leave the house in themorning!"

Sara stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face paler. Ermengarde burst into tears. 

"Oh, don't send her away, " she sobbed. "My aunt sent me the hamper. We're--only--having a party. "

"So I see, " said Miss Minchin, witheringly. "With the Princess Sara atthe head of the table. " She turned fiercely on Sara. "It is yourdoing, I know, " she cried. "Ermengarde would never have thought ofsuch a thing. You decorated the table, I suppose--with this rubbish. "She stamped her foot at Becky. "Go to your attic!" she commanded, andBecky stole away, her face hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking. 

Then it was Sara's turn again. 

"I will attend to you tomorrow. You shall have neither breakfast, dinner, nor supper!"

"I have not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Minchin, " saidSara, rather faintly. 

"Then all the better. You will have something to remember. Don'tstand there. Put those things into the hamper again. "

She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself, andcaught sight of Ermengarde's new books. 

"And you"--to Ermengarde--"have brought your beautiful new books intothis dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You will staythere all day tomorrow, and I shall write to your papa. What would HEsay if he knew where you are tonight?"

Something she saw in Sara's grave, fixed gaze at this moment made herturn on her fiercely. 

"What are you thinking of?" she demanded. "Why do you look at me likethat?"

"I was wondering, " answered Sara, as she had answered that notable dayin the schoolroom. 

"What were you wondering?"

It was very like the scene in the schoolroom. There was no pertness inSara's manner. It was only sad and quiet. 

"I was wondering, " she said in a low voice, "what MY papa would say ifhe knew where I am tonight. "

Miss Minchin was infuriated just as she had been before and her angerexpressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion. She flew ather and shook her. 

"You insolent, unmanageable child!" she cried. "How dare you! Howdare you!"

She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into thehamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Ermengarde's arms, and pushedher before her toward the door. 

"I will leave you to wonder, " she said. "Go to bed this instant. " Andshe shut the door behind herself and poor stumbling Ermengarde, andleft Sara standing quite alone. 

The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died out of thepaper in the grate and left only black tinder; the table was left bare, the golden plates and richly embroidered napkins, and the garlands weretransformed again into old handkerchiefs, scraps of red and whitepaper, and discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor; theminstrels in the minstrel gallery had stolen away, and the viols andbassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her back against the wall, staring very hard. Sara saw her, and went and picked her up withtrembling hands. 

"There isn't any banquet left, Emily, " she said. "And there isn't anyprincess. There is nothing left but the prisoners in the Bastille. "And she sat down and hid her face. 

What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then, and if shehad chanced to look up at the skylight at the wrong moment, I do notknow--perhaps the end of this chapter might have been quitedifferent--because if she had glanced at the skylight she wouldcertainly have been startled by what she would have seen. She wouldhave seen exactly the same face pressed against the glass and peeringin at her as it had peered in earlier in the evening when she had beentalking to Ermengarde. 

But she did not look up. She sat with her little black head in herarms for some time. She always sat like that when she was trying tobear something in silence. Then she got up and went slowly to the bed. 

"I can't pretend anything else--while I am awake, " she said. "Therewouldn't be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhaps a dream willcome and pretend for me. "

She suddenly felt so tired--perhaps through want of food--that she satdown on the edge of the bed quite weakly. 

"Suppose there was a bright fire in the grate, with lots of littledancing flames, " she murmured. "Suppose there was a comfortable chairbefore it--and suppose there was a small table near, with a littlehot--hot supper on it. And suppose"--as she drew the thin coveringsover her--"suppose this was a beautiful soft bed, with fleecy blanketsand large downy pillows. Suppose--suppose--" And her very wearinesswas good to her, for her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep. 

She did not know how long she slept. But she had been tired enough tosleep deeply and profoundly--too deeply and soundly to be disturbed byanything, even by the squeaks and scamperings of Melchisedec's entirefamily, if all his sons and daughters had chosen to come out of theirhole to fight and tumble and play. 

When she awakened it was rather suddenly, and she did not know that anyparticular thing had called her out of her sleep. The truth was, however, that it was a sound which had called her back--a realsound--the click of the skylight as it fell in closing after a lithewhite figure which slipped through it and crouched down close by uponthe slates of the roof--just near enough to see what happened in theattic, but not near enough to be seen. 

At first she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy and--curiouslyenough--too warm and comfortable. She was so warm and comfortable, indeed, that she did not believe she was really awake. She never was aswarm and cozy as this except in some lovely vision. 

"What a nice dream!" she murmured. "I feel quite warm. I--don't--want--to--wake--up. "

Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful bedclotheswere heaped upon her. She could actually FEEL blankets, and when sheput out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin-coveredeider-down quilt. She must not awaken from this delight--she must bequite still and make it last. 

But she could not--even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, shecould not. Something was forcing her to awaken--something in the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound--the sound of a crackling, roaringlittle fire. 

"Oh, I am awakening, " she said mournfully. "I can't help it--I can't. "

Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actually smiled--forwhat she saw she had never seen in the attic before, and knew she nevershould see. 

"Oh, I HAVEN'T awakened, " she whispered, daring to rise on her elbowand look all about her. "I am dreaming yet. " She knew it MUST be adream, for if she were awake such things could not--could not be. 

Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth? Thisis what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazing fire; onthe hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon thefloor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covereddishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot; on the bed were new warm coveringsand a satin-covered down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dreamseemed changed into fairyland--and it was flooded with warm light, fora bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade. 

She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came short and fast. 

"It does not--melt away, " she panted. "Oh, I never had such a dreambefore. " She scarcely dared to stir; but at last she pushed thebedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile. 

"I am dreaming--I am getting out of bed, " she heard her own voice say;and then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning slowly fromside to side--"I am dreaming it stays--real! I'm dreaming it FEELSreal. It's bewitched--or I'm bewitched. I only THINK I see it all. "Her words began to hurry themselves. "If I can only keep on thinkingit, " she cried, "I don't care! I don't care!"

She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again. 

"Oh, it isn't true!" she said. "It CAN'T be true! But oh, how true itseems!"

The blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and held out herhands close to it--so close that the heat made her start back. 

"A fire I only dreamed wouldn't be HOT, " she cried. 

She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she went to thebed and touched the blankets. She took up the soft waddeddressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it toher cheek. 

"It's warm. It's soft!" she almost sobbed. "It's real. It must be!"

She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the slippers. 

"They are real, too. It's all real!" she cried. "I am NOT--I am NOTdreaming!"

She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon thetop. Something was written on the flyleaf--just a few words, and theywere these:

"To the little girl in the attic. From a friend. "

When she saw that--wasn't it a strange thing for her to do--she put herface down upon the page and burst into tears. 

"I don't know who it is, " she said; "but somebody cares for me alittle. I have a friend. "

She took her candle and stole out of her own room and into Becky's, andstood by her bedside. 

"Becky, Becky!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. "Wake up!"

When Becky wakened, and she sat upright staring aghast, her face stillsmudged with traces of tears, beside her stood a little figure in aluxurious wadded robe of crimson silk. The face she saw was a shining, wonderful thing. The Princess Sara--as she remembered her--stood ather very bedside, holding a candle in her hand. 

"Come, " she said. "Oh, Becky, come!"

Becky was too frightened to speak. She simply got up and followed her, with her mouth and eyes open, and without a word. 

And when they crossed the threshold, Sara shut the door gently and drewher into the warm, glowing midst of things which made her brain reeland her hungry senses faint. "It's true! It's true!" she cried. "I've touched them all. They are as real as we are. The Magic has comeand done it, Becky, while we were asleep--the Magic that won't letthose worst things EVER quite happen. "

16

The Visitor

Imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. How theycrouched by the fire which blazed and leaped and made so much of itselfin the little grate. How they removed the covers of the dishes, andfound rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, andsandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both of them. The mug fromthe washstand was used as Becky's tea cup, and the tea was so deliciousthat it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. They were warm and full-fed and happy, and it was just like Sara that, having found her strange good fortune real, she should give herself upto the enjoyment of it to the utmost. She had lived such a life ofimaginings that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thingthat happened, and almost to cease, in a short time, to find itbewildering. 

"I don't know anyone in the world who could have done it, " she said;"but there has been someone. And here we are sitting by theirfire--and--and--it's true! And whoever it is--wherever they are--Ihave a friend, Becky--someone is my friend. "

It cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing fire, and atethe nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind of rapturous awe, and looked into each other's eyes with something like doubt. 

"Do you think, " Becky faltered once, in a whisper, "do you think itcould melt away, miss? Hadn't we better be quick?" And she hastilycrammed her sandwich into her mouth. If it was only a dream, kitchenmanners would be overlooked. 

"No, it won't melt away, " said Sara. "I am EATING this muffin, and Ican taste it. You never really eat things in dreams. You only thinkyou are going to eat them. Besides, I keep giving myself pinches; andI touched a hot piece of coal just now, on purpose. "

The sleepy comfort which at length almost overpowered them was aheavenly thing. It was the drowsiness of happy, well-fed childhood, and they sat in the fire glow and luxuriated in it until Sara foundherself turning to look at her transformed bed. 

There were even blankets enough to share with Becky. The narrow couchin the next attic was more comfortable that night than its occupant hadever dreamed that it could be. 

As she went out of the room, Becky turned upon the threshold and lookedabout her with devouring eyes. 

"If it ain't here in the mornin', miss, " she said, "it's been heretonight, anyways, an' I shan't never forget it. " She looked at eachparticular thing, as if to commit it to memory. "The fire was THERE", pointing with her finger, "an' the table was before it; an' the lampwas there, an' the light looked rosy red; an' there was a satin coveron your bed, an' a warm rug on the floor, an' everythin' lookedbeautiful; an'"--she paused a second, and laid her hand on her stomachtenderly--"there WAS soup an' sandwiches an' muffins--there WAS. " And, with this conviction a reality at least, she went away. 

Through the mysterious agency which works in schools and amongservants, it was quite well known in the morning that Sara Crewe was inhorrible disgrace, that Ermengarde was under punishment, and that Beckywould have been packed out of the house before breakfast, but that ascullery maid could not be dispensed with at once. The servants knewthat she was allowed to stay because Miss Minchin could not easily findanother creature helpless and humble enough to work like a boundenslave for so few shillings a week. The elder girls in the schoolroomknew that if Miss Minchin did not send Sara away it was for practicalreasons of her own. 

"She's growing so fast and learning such a lot, somehow, " said Jessieto Lavinia, "that she will be given classes soon, and Miss Minchinknows she will have to work for nothing. It was rather nasty of you, Lavvy, to tell about her having fun in the garret. How did you find itout?"

"I got it out of Lottie. She's such a baby she didn't know she wastelling me. There was nothing nasty at all in speaking to MissMinchin. I felt it my duty"--priggishly. "She was being deceitful. And it's ridiculous that she should look so grand, and be made so muchof, in her rags and tatters!"

"What were they doing when Miss Minchin caught them?"

"Pretending some silly thing. Ermengarde had taken up her hamper toshare with Sara and Becky. She never invites us to share things. Notthat I care, but it's rather vulgar of her to share with servant girlsin attics. I wonder Miss Minchin didn't turn Sara out--even if shedoes want her for a teacher. "

"If she was turned out where would she go?" inquired Jessie, a trifleanxiously. 

"How do I know?" snapped Lavinia. "She'll look rather queer when shecomes into the schoolroom this morning, I should think--after what'shappened. She had no dinner yesterday, and she's not to have anytoday. "

Jessie was not as ill-natured as she was silly. She picked up her bookwith a little jerk. 

"Well, I think it's horrid, " she said. "They've no right to starve herto death. "

When Sara went into the kitchen that morning the cook looked askance ather, and so did the housemaids; but she passed them hurriedly. She had, in fact, overslept herself a little, and as Becky had done the same, neither had had time to see the other, and each had come downstairs inhaste. 

Sara went into the scullery. Becky was violently scrubbing a kettle, and was actually gurgling a little song in her throat. She looked upwith a wildly elated face. 

"It was there when I wakened, miss--the blanket, " she whisperedexcitedly. "It was as real as it was last night. "

"So was mine, " said Sara. "It is all there now--all of it. While Iwas dressing I ate some of the cold things we left. "

"Oh, laws! Oh, laws!" Becky uttered the exclamation in a sort ofrapturous groan, and ducked her head over her kettle just in time, asthe cook came in from the kitchen. 

Miss Minchin had expected to see in Sara, when she appeared in theschoolroom, very much what Lavinia had expected to see. Sara had alwaysbeen an annoying puzzle to her, because severity never made her cry orlook frightened. When she was scolded she stood still and listenedpolitely with a grave face; when she was punished she performed herextra tasks or went without her meals, making no complaint or outwardsign of rebellion. The very fact that she never made an impudentanswer seemed to Miss Minchin a kind of impudence in itself. But afteryesterday's deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last night, theprospect of hunger today, she must surely have broken down. It wouldbe strange indeed if she did not come downstairs with pale cheeks andred eyes and an unhappy, humbled face. 

Miss Minchin saw her for the first time when she entered the schoolroomto hear the little French class recite its lessons and superintend itsexercises. And she came in with a springing step, color in her cheeks, and a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth. It was the mostastonishing thing Miss Minchin had ever known. It gave her quite ashock. What was the child made of? What could such a thing mean? Shecalled her at once to her desk. 

"You do not look as if you realize that you are in disgrace, " she said. "Are you absolutely hardened?"

The truth is that when one is still a child--or even if one is grownup--and has been well fed, and has slept long and softly and warm; whenone has gone to sleep in the midst of a fairy story, and has wakened tofind it real, one cannot be unhappy or even look as if one were; andone could not, if one tried, keep a glow of joy out of one's eyes. MissMinchin was almost struck dumb by the look of Sara's eyes when she madeher perfectly respectful answer. 

"I beg your pardon, Miss Minchin, " she said; "I know that I am indisgrace. "

"Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you had come into afortune. It is an impertinence. And remember you are to have no foodtoday. "

"Yes, Miss Minchin, " Sara answered; but as she turned away her heartleaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. "If the Magic hadnot saved me just in time, " she thought, "how horrible it would havebeen!"

"She can't be very hungry, " whispered Lavinia. "Just look at her. Perhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast"--with aspiteful laugh. 

"She's different from other people, " said Jessie, watching Sara withher class. "Sometimes I'm a bit frightened of her. "

"Ridiculous thing!" ejaculated Lavinia. 

All through the day the light was in Sara's face, and the color in hercheek. The servants cast puzzled glances at her, and whispered to eachother, and Miss Amelia's small blue eyes wore an expression ofbewilderment. What such an audacious look of well-being, under augustdispleasure could mean she could not understand. It was, however, justlike Sara's singular obstinate way. She was probably determined tobrave the matter out. 

One thing Sara had resolved upon, as she thought things over. Thewonders which had happened must be kept a secret, if such a thing werepossible. If Miss Minchin should choose to mount to the attic again, of course all would be discovered. But it did not seem likely that shewould do so for some time at least, unless she was led by suspicion. Ermengarde and Lottie would be watched with such strictness that theywould not dare to steal out of their beds again. Ermengarde could betold the story and trusted to keep it secret. If Lottie made anydiscoveries, she could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the Magicitself would help to hide its own marvels. 

"But whatever happens, " Sara kept saying to herself all day--"WHATEVERhappens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenly kind person who ismy friend--my friend. If I never know who it is--if I never can eventhank him--I shall never feel quite so lonely. Oh, the Magic was GOODto me!"

If it was possible for weather to be worse than it had been the daybefore, it was worse this day--wetter, muddier, colder. There weremore errands to be done, the cook was more irritable, and, knowing thatSara was in disgrace, she was more savage. But what does anythingmatter when one's Magic has just proved itself one's friend. Sara'ssupper of the night before had given her strength, she knew that sheshould sleep well and warmly, and, even though she had naturally begunto be hungry again before evening, she felt that she could bear ituntil breakfast-time on the following day, when her meals would surelybe given to her again. It was quite late when she was at last allowedto go upstairs. She had been told to go into the schoolroom and studyuntil ten o'clock, and she had become interested in her work, andremained over her books later. 

When she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before the atticdoor, it must be confessed that her heart beat rather fast. 

"Of course it MIGHT all have been taken away, " she whispered, trying tobe brave. "It might only have been lent to me for just that one awfulnight. But it WAS lent to me--I had it. It was real. "

She pushed the door open and went in. Once inside, she gaspedslightly, shut the door, and stood with her back against it lookingfrom side to side. 

The Magic had been there again. It actually had, and it had done evenmore than before. The fire was blazing, in lovely leaping flames, moremerrily than ever. A number of new things had been brought into theattic which so altered the look of it that if she had not been pastdoubting she would have rubbed her eyes. Upon the low table anothersupper stood--this time with cups and plates for Becky as well asherself; a piece of bright, heavy, strange embroidery covered thebattered mantel, and on it some ornaments had been placed. All thebare, ugly things which could be covered with draperies had beenconcealed and made to look quite pretty. Some odd materials of richcolors had been fastened against the wall with fine, sharp tacks--sosharp that they could be pressed into the wood and plaster withouthammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were severallarge cushions, big and substantial enough to use as seats. A woodenbox was covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that itwore quite the air of a sofa. 

Sara slowly moved away from the door and simply sat down and looked andlooked again. 

"It is exactly like something fairy come true, " she said. "There isn'tthe least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything--diamondsor bags of gold--and they would appear! THAT wouldn't be any strangerthan this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara?And to think I used to pretend and pretend and wish there were fairies!The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I amLIVING in a fairy story. I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, andable to turn things into anything else. "

She rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in the next cell, and the prisoner came. 

When she entered she almost dropped in a heap upon the floor. For afew seconds she quite lost her breath. 

"Oh, laws!" she gasped. "Oh, laws, miss!"

"You see, " said Sara. 

On this night Becky sat on a cushion upon the hearth rug and had a cupand saucer of her own. 

When Sara went to bed she found that she had a new thick mattress andbig downy pillows. Her old mattress and pillow had been removed toBecky's bedstead, and, consequently, with these additions Becky hadbeen supplied with unheard-of comfort. 

"Where does it all come from?" Becky broke forth once. "Laws, who doesit, miss?"

"Don't let us even ASK, " said Sara. "If it were not that I want tosay, 'Oh, thank you, ' I would rather not know. It makes it morebeautiful. "

From that time life became more wonderful day by day. The fairy storycontinued. Almost every day something new was done. Some new comfortor ornament appeared each time Sara opened the door at night, until ina short time the attic was a beautiful little room full of all sorts ofodd and luxurious things. The ugly walls were gradually entirelycovered with pictures and draperies, ingenious pieces of foldingfurniture appeared, a bookshelf was hung up and filled with books, newcomforts and conveniences appeared one by one, until there seemednothing left to be desired. When Sara went downstairs in the morning, the remains of the supper were on the table; and when she returned tothe attic in the evening, the magician had removed them and leftanother nice little meal. Miss Minchin was as harsh and insulting asever, Miss Amelia as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar and rude. Sara was sent on errands in all weathers, and scolded and driven hitherand thither; she was scarcely allowed to speak to Ermengarde andLottie; Lavinia sneered at the increasing shabbiness of her clothes;and the other girls stared curiously at her when she appeared in theschoolroom. But what did it all matter while she was living in thiswonderful mysterious story? It was more romantic and delightful thananything she had ever invented to comfort her starved young soul andsave herself from despair. Sometimes, when she was scolded, she couldscarcely keep from smiling. 

"If you only knew!" she was saying to herself. "If you only knew!"

The comfort and happiness she enjoyed were making her stronger, and shehad them always to look forward to. If she came home from her errandswet and tired and hungry, she knew she would soon be warm and well fedafter she had climbed the stairs. During the hardest day she couldoccupy herself blissfully by thinking of what she should see when sheopened the attic door, and wondering what new delight had been preparedfor her. In a very short time she began to look less thin. Color cameinto her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem so much too big for her face. 

"Sara Crewe looks wonderfully well, " Miss Minchin remarkeddisapprovingly to her sister. 

"Yes, " answered poor, silly Miss Amelia. "She is absolutely fattening. She was beginning to look like a little starved crow. "

"Starved!" exclaimed Miss Minchin, angrily. "There was no reason whyshe should look starved. She always had plenty to eat!"

"Of--of course, " agreed Miss Amelia, humbly, alarmed to find that shehad, as usual, said the wrong thing. 

"There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort of thing in achild of her age, " said Miss Minchin, with haughty vagueness. 

"What--sort of thing?" Miss Amelia ventured. 

"It might almost be called defiance, " answered Miss Minchin, feelingannoyed because she knew the thing she resented was nothing likedefiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant term to use. "Thespirit and will of any other child would have been entirely humbled andbroken by--by the changes she has had to submit to. But, upon my word, she seems as little subdued as if--as if she were a princess. "

"Do you remember, " put in the unwise Miss Amelia, "what she said to youthat day in the schoolroom about what you would do if you found outthat she was--"

"No, I don't, " said Miss Minchin. "Don't talk nonsense. " But sheremembered very clearly indeed. 

Very naturally, even Becky was beginning to look plumper and lessfrightened. She could not help it. She had her share in the secretfairy story, too. She had two mattresses, two pillows, plenty ofbed-covering, and every night a hot supper and a seat on the cushionsby the fire. The Bastille had melted away, the prisoners no longerexisted. Two comforted children sat in the midst of delights. Sometimes Sara read aloud from her books, sometimes she learned her ownlessons, sometimes she sat and looked into the fire and tried toimagine who her friend could be, and wished she could say to him someof the things in her heart. 

Then it came about that another wonderful thing happened. A man came tothe door and left several parcels. All were addressed in largeletters, "To the Little Girl in the right-hand attic. "

Sara herself was sent to open the door and take them in. She laid thetwo largest parcels on the hall table, and was looking at the address, when Miss Minchin came down the stairs and saw her. 

"Take the things to the young lady to whom they belong, " she saidseverely. "Don't stand there staring at them. 

"They belong to me, " answered Sara, quietly. 

"To you?" exclaimed Miss Minchin. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know where they come from, " said Sara, "but they are addressedto me. I sleep in the right-hand attic. Becky has the other one. "

Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at the parcels with an excitedexpression. 

"What is in them?" she demanded. 

"I don't know, " replied Sara. 

"Open them, " she ordered. 

Sara did as she was told. When the packages were unfolded MissMinchin's countenance wore suddenly a singular expression. What shesaw was pretty and comfortable clothing--clothing of different kinds:shoes, stockings, and gloves, and a warm and beautiful coat. There wereeven a nice hat and an umbrella. They were all good and expensivethings, and on the pocket of the coat was pinned a paper, on which werewritten these words: "To be worn every day. Will be replaced by otherswhen necessary. "

Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggestedstrange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made amistake, after all, and that the neglected child had some powerfulthough eccentric friend in the background--perhaps some previouslyunknown relation, who had suddenly traced her whereabouts, and chose toprovide for her in this mysterious and fantastic way? Relations weresometimes very odd--particularly rich old bachelor uncles, who did notcare for having children near them. A man of that sort might prefer tooverlook his young relation's welfare at a distance. Such a person, however, would be sure to be crotchety and hot-tempered enough to beeasily offended. It would not be very pleasant if there were such aone, and he should learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, and the hard work. She felt very queer indeed, andvery uncertain, and she gave a side glance at Sara. 

"Well, " she said, in a voice such as she had never used since thelittle girl lost her father, "someone is very kind to you. As thethings have been sent, and you are to have new ones when they are wornout, you may as well go and put them on and look respectable. After youare dressed you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in theschoolroom. You need not go out on any more errands today. "

About half an hour afterward, when the schoolroom door opened and Sarawalked in, the entire seminary was struck dumb. 

"My word!" ejaculated Jessie, jogging Lavinia's elbow. "Look at thePrincess Sara!"

Everybody was looking, and when Lavinia looked she turned quite red. 

It was the Princess Sara indeed. At least, since the days when she hadbeen a princess, Sara had never looked as she did now. She did notseem the Sara they had seen come down the back stairs a few hours ago. She was dressed in the kind of frock Lavinia had been used to envyingher the possession of. It was deep and warm in color, and beautifullymade. Her slender feet looked as they had done when Jessie had admiredthem, and the hair, whose heavy locks had made her look rather like aShetland pony when it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tiedback with a ribbon. 

"Perhaps someone has left her a fortune, " Jessie whispered. "I alwaysthought something would happen to her. She's so queer. "

"Perhaps the diamond mines have suddenly appeared again, " said Lavinia, scathingly. "Don't please her by staring at her in that way, you sillything. "

"Sara, " broke in Miss Minchin's deep voice, "come and sit here. "

And while the whole schoolroom stared and pushed with elbows, andscarcely made any effort to conceal its excited curiosity, Sara went toher old seat of honor, and bent her head over her books. 

That night, when she went to her room, after she and Becky had eatentheir supper she sat and looked at the fire seriously for a long time. 

"Are you making something up in your head, miss?" Becky inquired withrespectful softness. When Sara sat in silence and looked into thecoals with dreaming eyes it generally meant that she was making a newstory. But this time she was not, and she shook her head. 

"No, " she answered. "I am wondering what I ought to do. "

Becky stared--still respectfully. She was filled with somethingapproaching reverence for everything Sara did and said. 

"I can't help thinking about my friend, " Sara explained. "If he wantsto keep himself a secret, it would be rude to try and find out who heis. But I do so want him to know how thankful I am to him--and howhappy he has made me. Anyone who is kind wants to know when peoplehave been made happy. They care for that more than for being thanked. I wish--I do wish--"

She stopped short because her eyes at that instant fell upon somethingstanding on a table in a corner. It was something she had found in theroom when she came up to it only two days before. It was a littlewriting-case fitted with paper and envelopes and pens and ink. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "why did I not think of that before?"

She rose and went to the corner and brought the case back to the fire. 

"I can write to him, " she said joyfully, "and leave it on the table. Then perhaps the person who takes the things away will take it, too. Iwon't ask him anything. He won't mind my thanking him, I feel sure. "

So she wrote a note. This is what she said:

I hope you will not think it is impolite that I should write this noteto you when you wish to keep yourself a secret. Please believe I donot mean to be impolite or try to find out anything at all; only I wantto thank you for being so kind to me--so heavenly kind--and makingeverything like a fairy story. I am so grateful to you, and I am sohappy--and so is Becky. Becky feels just as thankful as I do--it isall just as beautiful and wonderful to her as it is to me. We used tobe so lonely and cold and hungry, and now--oh, just think what you havedone for us! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if IOUGHT to say them. THANK you--THANK you--THANK you!

THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC. 

The next morning she left this on the little table, and in the eveningit had been taken away with the other things; so she knew the Magicianhad received it, and she was happier for the thought. She was readingone of her new books to Becky just before they went to their respectivebeds, when her attention was attracted by a sound at the skylight. When she looked up from her page she saw that Becky had heard the soundalso, as she had turned her head to look and was listening rathernervously. 

"Something's there, miss, " she whispered. 

"Yes, " said Sara, slowly. "It sounds--rather like a cat--trying to getin. "

She left her chair and went to the skylight. It was a queer littlesound she heard--like a soft scratching. She suddenly rememberedsomething and laughed. She remembered a quaint little intruder who hadmade his way into the attic once before. She had seen him that veryafternoon, sitting disconsolately on a table before a window in theIndian gentleman's house. 

"Suppose, " she whispered in pleased excitement--"just suppose it wasthe monkey who got away again. Oh, I wish it was!"

She climbed on a chair, very cautiously raised the skylight, and peepedout. It had been snowing all day, and on the snow, quite near her, crouched a tiny, shivering figure, whose small black face wrinkleditself piteously at sight of her. 

"It is the monkey, " she cried out. "He has crept out of the Lascar'sattic, and he saw the light. "

Becky ran to her side. 

"Are you going to let him in, miss?" she said. 

"Yes, " Sara answered joyfully. "It's too cold for monkeys to be out. They're delicate. I'll coax him in. "

She put a hand out delicately, speaking in a coaxing voice--as shespoke to the sparrows and to Melchisedec--as if she were some friendlylittle animal herself. 

"Come along, monkey darling, " she said. "I won't hurt you. "

He knew she would not hurt him. He knew it before she laid her soft, caressing little paw on him and drew him towards her. He had felt humanlove in the slim brown hands of Ram Dass, and he felt it in hers. Helet her lift him through the skylight, and when he found himself in herarms he cuddled up to her breast and looked up into her face. 

"Nice monkey! Nice monkey!" she crooned, kissing his funny head. "Oh, I do love little animal things. "

He was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she sat down andheld him on her knee he looked from her to Becky with mingled interestand appreciation. 

"He IS plain-looking, miss, ain't he?" said Becky. 

"He looks like a very ugly baby, " laughed Sara. "I beg your pardon, monkey; but I'm glad you are not a baby. Your mother COULDN'T be proudof you, and no one would dare to say you looked like any of yourrelations. Oh, I do like you!"

She leaned back in her chair and reflected. 

"Perhaps he's sorry he's so ugly, " she said, "and it's always on hismind. I wonder if he HAS a mind. Monkey, my love, have you a mind?"

But the monkey only put up a tiny paw and scratched his head. 

"What shall you do with him?" Becky asked. 

"I shall let him sleep with me tonight, and then take him back to theIndian gentleman tomorrow. I am sorry to take you back, monkey; butyou must go. You ought to be fondest of your own family; and I'm not aREAL relation. "

And when she went to bed she made him a nest at her feet, and he curledup and slept there as if he were a baby and much pleased with hisquarters. 

17

"It Is the Child!"

The next afternoon three members of the Large Family sat in the Indiangentleman's library, doing their best to cheer him up. They had beenallowed to come in to perform this office because he had speciallyinvited them. He had been living in a state of suspense for some time, and today he was waiting for a certain event very anxiously. Thisevent was the return of Mr. Carmichael from Moscow. His stay there hadbeen prolonged from week to week. On his first arrival there, he hadnot been able satisfactorily to trace the family he had gone in searchof. When he felt at last sure that he had found them and had gone totheir house, he had been told that they were absent on a journey. Hisefforts to reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided to remainin Moscow until their return. Mr. Carrisford sat in his recliningchair, and Janet sat on the floor beside him. He was very fond ofJanet. Nora had found a footstool, and Donald was astride the tiger'shead which ornamented the rug made of the animal's skin. It must beowned that he was riding it rather violently. 

"Don't chirrup so loud, Donald, " Janet said. "When you come to cheeran ill person up you don't cheer him up at the top of your voice. Perhaps cheering up is too loud, Mr. Carrisford?" turning to the Indiangentleman. 

But he only patted her shoulder. 

"No, it isn't, " he answered. "And it keeps me from thinking too much. "

"I'm going to be quiet, " Donald shouted. "We'll all be as quiet asmice. "

"Mice don't make a noise like that, " said Janet. 

Donald made a bridle of his handkerchief and bounced up and down on thetiger's head. 

"A whole lot of mice might, " he said cheerfully. "A thousand micemight. "

"I don't believe fifty thousand mice would, " said Janet, severely; "andwe have to be as quiet as one mouse. "

Mr. Carrisford laughed and patted her shoulder again. 

"Papa won't be very long now, " she said. "May we talk about the lostlittle girl?"

"I don't think I could talk much about anything else just now, " theIndian gentleman answered, knitting his forehead with a tired look. 

"We like her so much, " said Nora. "We call her the little un-fairyprincess. "

"Why?" the Indian gentleman inquired, because the fancies of the LargeFamily always made him forget things a little. 

It was Janet who answered. 

"It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will be so richwhen she is found that she will be like a princess in a fairy tale. Wecalled her the fairy princess at first, but it didn't quite suit. "

"Is it true, " said Nora, "that her papa gave all his money to a friendto put in a mine that had diamonds in it, and then the friend thoughthe had lost it all and ran away because he felt as if he was a robber?"

"But he wasn't really, you know, " put in Janet, hastily. 

The Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly. 

"No, he wasn't really, " he said. 

"I am sorry for the friend, " Janet said; "I can't help it. He didn'tmean to do it, and it would break his heart. I am sure it would breakhis heart. "

"You are an understanding little woman, Janet, " the Indian gentlemansaid, and he held her hand close. 

"Did you tell Mr. Carrisford, " Donald shouted again, "about thelittle-girl-who-isn't-a-beggar? Did you tell him she has new niceclothes? P'r'aps she's been found by somebody when she was lost. "

"There's a cab!" exclaimed Janet. "It's stopping before the door. Itis papa!"

They all ran to the windows to look out. 

"Yes, it's papa, " Donald proclaimed. "But there is no little girl. "

All three of them incontinently fled from the room and tumbled into thehall. It was in this way they always welcomed their father. They wereto be heard jumping up and down, clapping their hands, and being caughtup and kissed. 

Mr. Carrisford made an effort to rise and sank back again. 

"It is no use, " he said. "What a wreck I am!"

Mr. Carmichael's voice approached the door. 

"No, children, " he was saying; "you may come in after I have talked toMr. Carrisford. Go and play with Ram Dass. "

Then the door opened and he came in. He looked rosier than ever, andbrought an atmosphere of freshness and health with him; but his eyeswere disappointed and anxious as they met the invalid's look of eagerquestion even as they grasped each other's hands. 

"What news?" Mr. Carrisford asked. "The child the Russian peopleadopted?"

"She is not the child we are looking for, " was Mr. Carmichael's answer. "She is much younger than Captain Crewe's little girl. Her name isEmily Carew. I have seen and talked to her. The Russians were able togive me every detail. "

How wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman looked! His handdropped from Mr. Carmichael's. 

"Then the search has to be begun over again, " he said. "That is all. Please sit down. "

Mr. Carmichael took a seat. Somehow, he had gradually grown fond ofthis unhappy man. He was himself so well and happy, and so surroundedby cheerfulness and love, that desolation and broken health seemedpitifully unbearable things. If there had been the sound of just onegay little high-pitched voice in the house, it would have been so muchless forlorn. And that a man should be compelled to carry about in hisbreast the thought that he had seemed to wrong and desert a child wasnot a thing one could face. 

"Come, come, " he said in his cheery voice; "we'll find her yet. "

"We must begin at once. No time must be lost, " Mr. Carrisford fretted. "Have you any new suggestion to make--any whatsoever?"

Mr. Carmichael felt rather restless, and he rose and began to pace theroom with a thoughtful, though uncertain face. 

"Well, perhaps, " he said. "I don't know what it may be worth. Thefact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing over in thetrain on the journey from Dover. "

"What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere. "

"Yes; she is SOMEWHERE. We have searched the schools in Paris. Let usgive up Paris and begin in London. That was my idea--to search London. "

"There are schools enough in London, " said Mr. Carrisford. Then heslightly started, roused by a recollection. "By the way, there is onenext door. "

"Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer than next door. "

"No, " said Carrisford. "There is a child there who interests me; butshe is not a pupil. And she is a little dark, forlorn creature, asunlike poor Crewe as a child could be. "

Perhaps the Magic was at work again at that very moment--the beautifulMagic. It really seemed as if it might be so. What was it that broughtRam Dass into the room--even as his master spoke--salaamingrespectfully, but with a scarcely concealed touch of excitement in hisdark, flashing eyes?

"Sahib, " he said, "the child herself has come--the child the sahib feltpity for. She brings back the monkey who had again run away to herattic under the roof. I have asked that she remain. It was my thoughtthat it would please the sahib to see and speak with her. "

"Who is she?" inquired Mr. Carmichael. 

"God knows, " Mr. Carrrisford answered. "She is the child I spoke of. Alittle drudge at the school. " He waved his hand to Ram Dass, andaddressed him. "Yes, I should like to see her. Go and bring her in. "Then he turned to Mr. Carmichael. "While you have been away, " heexplained, "I have been desperate. The days were so dark and long. RamDass told me of this child's miseries, and together we invented aromantic plan to help her. I suppose it was a childish thing to do;but it gave me something to plan and think of. Without the help of anagile, soft-footed Oriental like Ram Dass, however, it could not havebeen done. "

Then Sara came into the room. She carried the monkey in her arms, andhe evidently did not intend to part from her, if it could be helped. He was clinging to her and chattering, and the interesting excitementof finding herself in the Indian gentleman's room had brought a flushto Sara's cheeks. 

"Your monkey ran away again, " she said, in her pretty voice. "He cameto my garret window last night, and I took him in because it was socold. I would have brought him back if it had not been so late. I knewyou were ill and might not like to be disturbed. "

The Indian gentleman's hollow eyes dwelt on her with curious interest. 

"That was very thoughtful of you, " he said. 

Sara looked toward Ram Dass, who stood near the door. 

"Shall I give him to the Lascar?" she asked. 

"How do you know he is a Lascar?" said the Indian gentleman, smiling alittle. 

"Oh, I know Lascars, " Sara said, handing over the reluctant monkey. "Iwas born in India. "

The Indian gentleman sat upright so suddenly, and with such a change ofexpression, that she was for a moment quite startled. 

"You were born in India, " he exclaimed, "were you? Come here. " And heheld out his hand. 

Sara went to him and laid her hand in his, as he seemed to want to takeit. She stood still, and her green-gray eyes met his wonderingly. Something seemed to be the matter with him. 

"You live next door?" he demanded. 

"Yes; I live at Miss Minchin's seminary. "

"But you are not one of her pupils?"

A strange little smile hovered about Sara's mouth. She hesitated amoment. 

"I don't think I know exactly WHAT I am, " she replied. 

"Why not?"

"At first I was a pupil, and a parlor boarder; but now--"

"You were a pupil! What are you now?"

The queer little sad smile was on Sara's lips again. 

"I sleep in the attic, next to the scullery maid, " she said. "I runerrands for the cook--I do anything she tells me; and I teach thelittle ones their lessons. "

"Question her, Carmichael, " said Mr. Carrisford, sinking back as if hehad lost his strength. "Question her; I cannot. "

The big, kind father of the Large Family knew how to question littlegirls. Sara realized how much practice he had had when he spoke to herin his nice, encouraging voice. 

"What do you mean by 'At first, ' my child?" he inquired. 

"When I was first taken there by my papa. "

"Where is your papa?"

"He died, " said Sara, very quietly. "He lost all his money and therewas none left for me. There was no one to take care of me or to payMiss Minchin. "

"Carmichael!" the Indian gentleman cried out loudly. "Carmichael!"

"We must not frighten her, " Mr. Carmichael said aside to him in aquick, low voice. And he added aloud to Sara, "So you were sent upinto the attic, and made into a little drudge. That was about it, wasn't it?"

"There was no one to take care of me, " said Sara. "There was no money;I belong to nobody. "

"How did your father lose his money?" the Indian gentleman broke inbreathlessly. 

"He did not lose it himself, " Sara answered, wondering still more eachmoment. "He had a friend he was very fond of--he was very fond of him. It was his friend who took his money. He trusted his friend too much. "

The Indian gentleman's breath came more quickly. 

"The friend might have MEANT to do no harm, " he said. "It might havehappened through a mistake. "

Sara did not know how unrelenting her quiet young voice sounded as sheanswered. If she had known, she would surely have tried to soften itfor the Indian gentleman's sake. 

"The suffering was just as bad for my papa, " she said. "It killed him. "

"What was your father's name?" the Indian gentleman said. "Tell me. "

"His name was Ralph Crewe, " Sara answered, feeling startled. "CaptainCrewe. He died in India. "

The haggard face contracted, and Ram Dass sprang to his master's side. 

"Carmichael, " the invalid gasped, "it is the child--the child!"

For a moment Sara thought he was going to die. Ram Dass poured outdrops from a bottle, and held them to his lips. Sara stood near, trembling a little. She looked in a bewildered way at Mr. Carmichael. 

"What child am I?" she faltered. 

"He was your father's friend, " Mr. Carmichael answered her. "Don't befrightened. We have been looking for you for two years. "

Sara put her hand up to her forehead, and her mouth trembled. Shespoke as if she were in a dream. 

"And I was at Miss Minchin's all the while, " she half whispered. "Juston the other side of the wall. "

18

"I Tried Not to Be"

It was pretty, comfortable Mrs. Carmichael who explained everything. She was sent for at once, and came across the square to take Sara intoher warm arms and make clear to her all that had happened. Theexcitement of the totally unexpected discovery had been temporarilyalmost overpowering to Mr. Carrisford in his weak condition. 

"Upon my word, " he said faintly to Mr. Carmichael, when it wassuggested that the little girl should go into another room. "I feel asif I do not want to lose sight of her. "

"I will take care of her, " Janet said, "and mamma will come in a fewminutes. " And it was Janet who led her away. 

"We're so glad you are found, " she said. "You don't know how glad weare that you are found. "

Donald stood with his hands in his pockets, and gazed at Sara withreflecting and self-reproachful eyes. 

"If I'd just asked what your name was when I gave you my sixpence, " hesaid, "you would have told me it was Sara Crewe, and then you wouldhave been found in a minute. " Then Mrs. Carmichael came in. She lookedvery much moved, and suddenly took Sara in her arms and kissed her. 

"You look bewildered, poor child, " she said. "And it is not to bewondered at. "

Sara could only think of one thing. 

"Was he, " she said, with a glance toward the closed door of thelibrary--"was HE the wicked friend? Oh, do tell me!"

Mrs. Carmichael was crying as she kissed her again. She felt as if sheought to be kissed very often because she had not been kissed for solong. 

"He was not wicked, my dear, " she answered. "He did not really loseyour papa's money. He only thought he had lost it; and because heloved him so much his grief made him so ill that for a time he was notin his right mind. He almost died of brain fever, and long before hebegan to recover your poor papa was dead. "

"And he did not know where to find me, " murmured Sara. "And I was sonear. " Somehow, she could not forget that she had been so near. 

"He believed you were in school in France, " Mrs. Carmichael explained. "And he was continually misled by false clues. He has looked for youeverywhere. When he saw you pass by, looking so sad and neglected, hedid not dream that you were his friend's poor child; but because youwere a little girl, too, he was sorry for you, and wanted to make youhappier. And he told Ram Dass to climb into your attic window and tryto make you comfortable. "

Sara gave a start of joy; her whole look changed. 

"Did Ram Dass bring the things?" she cried out. "Did he tell Ram Dassto do it? Did he make the dream that came true?"

"Yes, my dear--yes! He is kind and good, and he was sorry for you, forlittle lost Sara Crewe's sake. "

The library door opened and Mr. Carmichael appeared, calling Sara tohim with a gesture. 

"Mr. Carrisford is better already, " he said. "He wants you to come tohim. "

Sara did not wait. When the Indian gentleman looked at her as sheentered, he saw that her face was all alight. 

She went and stood before his chair, with her hands clasped togetheragainst her breast. 

"You sent the things to me, " she said, in a joyful emotional littlevoice, "the beautiful, beautiful things? YOU sent them!"

"Yes, poor, dear child, I did, " he answered her. He was weak andbroken with long illness and trouble, but he looked at her with thelook she remembered in her father's eyes--that look of loving her andwanting to take her in his arms. It made her kneel down by him, justas she used to kneel by her father when they were the dearest friendsand lovers in the world. 

"Then it is you who are my friend, " she said; "it is you who are myfriend!" And she dropped her face on his thin hand and kissed it againand again. 

"The man will be himself again in three weeks, " Mr. Carmichael saidaside to his wife. "Look at his face already. "

In fact, he did look changed. Here was the "Little Missus, " and he hadnew things to think of and plan for already. In the first place, therewas Miss Minchin. She must be interviewed and told of the change whichhad taken place in the fortunes of her pupil. 

Sara was not to return to the seminary at all. The Indian gentlemanwas very determined upon that point. She must remain where she was, and Mr. Carmichael should go and see Miss Minchin himself. 

"I am glad I need not go back, " said Sara. "She will be very angry. She does not like me; though perhaps it is my fault, because I do notlike her. "

But, oddly enough, Miss Minchin made it unnecessary for Mr. Carmichaelto go to her, by actually coming in search of her pupil herself. Shehad wanted Sara for something, and on inquiry had heard an astonishingthing. One of the housemaids had seen her steal out of the area withsomething hidden under her cloak, and had also seen her go up the stepsof the next door and enter the house. 

"What does she mean!" cried Miss Minchin to Miss Amelia. 

"I don't know, I'm sure, sister, " answered Miss Amelia. "Unless shehas made friends with him because he has lived in India. "

"It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him and try to gainhis sympathies in some such impertinent fashion, " said Miss Minchin. "She must have been in the house for two hours. I will not allow suchpresumption. I shall go and inquire into the matter, and apologize forher intrusion. "

Sara was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Carrisford's knee, andlistening to some of the many things he felt it necessary to try toexplain to her, when Ram Dass announced the visitor's arrival. 

Sara rose involuntarily, and became rather pale; but Mr. Carrisford sawthat she stood quietly, and showed none of the ordinary signs of childterror. 

Miss Minchin entered the room with a sternly dignified manner. She wascorrectly and well dressed, and rigidly polite. 

"I am sorry to disturb Mr. Carrisford, " she said; "but I haveexplanations to make. I am Miss Minchin, the proprietress of the YoungLadies' Seminary next door. "

The Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in silent scrutiny. Hewas a man who had naturally a rather hot temper, and he did not wish itto get too much the better of him. 

"So you are Miss Minchin?" he said. 

"I am, sir. "

"In that case, " the Indian gentleman replied, "you have arrived at theright time. My solicitor, Mr. Carmichael, was just on the point ofgoing to see you. "

Mr. Carmichael bowed slightly, and Miss Minchin looked from him to Mr. Carrisford in amazement. 

"Your solicitor!" she said. "I do not understand. I have come here asa matter of duty. I have just discovered that you have been intrudedupon through the forwardness of one of my pupils--a charity pupil. Icame to explain that she intruded without my knowledge. " She turnedupon Sara. "Go home at once, " she commanded indignantly. "You shall beseverely punished. Go home at once. "

The Indian gentleman drew Sara to his side and patted her hand. 

"She is not going. "

Miss Minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her senses. 

"Not going!" she repeated. 

"No, " said Mr. Carrisford. "She is not going home--if you give yourhouse that name. Her home for the future will be with me. "

Miss Minchin fell back in amazed indignation. 

"With YOU! With YOU sir! What does this mean?"

"Kindly explain the matter, Carmichael, " said the Indian gentleman;"and get it over as quickly as possible. " And he made Sara sit downagain, and held her hands in his--which was another trick of her papa's. 

Then Mr. Carmichael explained--in the quiet, level-toned, steady mannerof a man who knew his subject, and all its legal significance, whichwas a thing Miss Minchin understood as a business woman, and did notenjoy. 

"Mr. Carrisford, madam, " he said, "was an intimate friend of the lateCaptain Crewe. He was his partner in certain large investments. Thefortune which Captain Crewe supposed he had lost has been recovered, and is now in Mr. Carrisford's hands. "

"The fortune!" cried Miss Minchin; and she really lost color as sheuttered the exclamation. "Sara's fortune!"

"It WILL be Sara's fortune, " replied Mr. Carmichael, rather coldly. "Itis Sara's fortune now, in fact. Certain events have increased itenormously. The diamond mines have retrieved themselves. "

"The diamond mines!" Miss Minchin gasped out. If this was true, nothing so horrible, she felt, had ever happened to her since she wasborn. 

"The diamond mines, " Mr. Carmichael repeated, and he could not helpadding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like smile, "There are not manyprincesses, Miss Minchin, who are richer than your little charitypupil, Sara Crewe, will be. Mr. Carrisford has been searching for herfor nearly two years; he has found her at last, and he will keep her. "

After which he asked Miss Minchin to sit down while he explainedmatters to her fully, and went into such detail as was necessary tomake it quite clear to her that Sara's future was an assured one, andthat what had seemed to be lost was to be restored to her tenfold;also, that she had in Mr. Carrisford a guardian as well as a friend. 

Miss Minchin was not a clever woman, and in her excitement she wassilly enough to make one desperate effort to regain what she could nothelp seeing she had lost through her worldly folly. 

"He found her under my care, " she protested. "I have done everythingfor her. But for me she should have starved in the streets. "

Here the Indian gentleman lost his temper. 

"As to starving in the streets, " he said, "she might have starved morecomfortably there than in your attic. "

"Captain Crewe left her in my charge, " Miss Minchin argued. "She mustreturn to it until she is of age. She can be a parlor boarder again. She must finish her education. The law will interfere in my behalf. "

"Come, come, Miss Minchin, " Mr. Carmichael interposed, "the law will donothing of the sort. If Sara herself wishes to return to you, I daresay Mr. Carrisford might not refuse to allow it. But that rests withSara. "

"Then, " said Miss Minchin, "I appeal to Sara. I have not spoiled you, perhaps, " she said awkwardly to the little girl; "but you know thatyour papa was pleased with your progress. And--ahem--I have always beenfond of you. "

Sara's green-gray eyes fixed themselves on her with the quiet, clearlook Miss Minchin particularly disliked. 

"Have YOU, Miss Minchin?" she said. "I did not know that. "

Miss Minchin reddened and drew herself up. 

"You ought to have known it, " said she; "but children, unfortunately, never know what is best for them. Amelia and I always said you werethe cleverest child in the school. Will you not do your duty to yourpoor papa and come home with me?"

Sara took a step toward her and stood still. She was thinking of theday when she had been told that she belonged to nobody, and was indanger of being turned into the street; she was thinking of the cold, hungry hours she had spent alone with Emily and Melchisedec in theattic. She looked Miss Minchin steadily in the face. 

"You know why I will not go home with you, Miss Minchin, " she said;"you know quite well. "

A hot flush showed itself on Miss Minchin's hard, angry face. 

"You will never see your companions again, " she began. "I will seethat Ermengarde and Lottie are kept away--"

Mr. Carmichael stopped her with polite firmness. 

"Excuse me, " he said; "she will see anyone she wishes to see. Theparents of Miss Crewe's fellow-pupils are not likely to refuse herinvitations to visit her at her guardian's house. Mr. Carrisford willattend to that. "

It must be confessed that even Miss Minchin flinched. This was worsethan the eccentric bachelor uncle who might have a peppery temper andbe easily offended at the treatment of his niece. A woman of sordidmind could easily believe that most people would not refuse to allowtheir children to remain friends with a little heiress of diamondmines. And if Mr. Carrisford chose to tell certain of her patrons howunhappy Sara Crewe had been made, many unpleasant things might happen. 

"You have not undertaken an easy charge, " she said to the Indiangentleman, as she turned to leave the room; "you will discover thatvery soon. The child is neither truthful nor grateful. I suppose"--toSara--"that you feel now that you are a princess again. "

Sara looked down and flushed a little, because she thought her petfancy might not be easy for strangers--even nice ones--to understand atfirst. 

"I--TRIED not to be anything else, " she answered in a low voice--"evenwhen I was coldest and hungriest--I tried not to be. "

"Now it will not be necessary to try, " said Miss Minchin, acidly, asRam Dass salaamed her out of the room. 

She returned home and, going to her sitting room, sent at once for MissAmelia. She sat closeted with her all the rest of the afternoon, andit must be admitted that poor Miss Amelia passed through more than onebad quarter of an hour. She shed a good many tears, and mopped hereyes a good deal. One of her unfortunate remarks almost caused hersister to snap her head entirely off, but it resulted in an unusualmanner. 

"I'm not as clever as you, sister, " she said, "and I am always afraidto say things to you for fear of making you angry. Perhaps if I werenot so timid it would be better for the school and for both of us. Imust say I've often thought it would have been better if you had beenless severe on Sara Crewe, and had seen that she was decently dressedand more comfortable. I KNOW she was worked too hard for a child of herage, and I know she was only half fed--"

"How dare you say such a thing!" exclaimed Miss Minchin. 

"I don't know how I dare, " Miss Amelia answered, with a kind ofreckless courage; "but now I've begun I may as well finish, whateverhappens to me. The child was a clever child and a good child--and shewould have paid you for any kindness you had shown her. But you didn'tshow her any. The fact was, she was too clever for you, and you alwaysdisliked her for that reason. She used to see through us both--"

"Amelia!" gasped her infuriated elder, looking as if she would box herears and knock her cap off, as she had often done to Becky. 

But Miss Amelia's disappointment had made her hysterical enough not tocare what occurred next. 

"She did! She did!" she cried. "She saw through us both. She saw thatyou were a hard-hearted, worldly woman, and that I was a weak fool, andthat we were both of us vulgar and mean enough to grovel on our kneesfor her money, and behave ill to her because it was taken fromher--though she behaved herself like a little princess even when shewas a beggar. She did--she did--like a little princess!" And herhysterics got the better of the poor woman, and she began to laugh andcry both at once, and rock herself backward and forward. 

"And now you've lost her, " she cried wildly; "and some other schoolwill get her and her money; and if she were like any other child she'dtell how she's been treated, and all our pupils would be taken away andwe should be ruined. And it serves us right; but it serves you rightmore than it does me, for you are a hard woman, Maria Minchin, you're ahard, selfish, worldly woman!"

And she was in danger of making so much noise with her hystericalchokes and gurgles that her sister was obliged to go to her and applysalts and sal volatile to quiet her, instead of pouring forth herindignation at her audacity. 

And from that time forward, it may be mentioned, the elder Miss Minchinactually began to stand a little in awe of a sister who, while shelooked so foolish, was evidently not quite so foolish as she looked, and might, consequently, break out and speak truths people did not wantto hear. 

That evening, when the pupils were gathered together before the fire inthe schoolroom, as was their custom before going to bed, Ermengardecame in with a letter in her hand and a queer expression on her roundface. It was queer because, while it was an expression of delightedexcitement, it was combined with such amazement as seemed to belong toa kind of shock just received. 

"What IS the matter?" cried two or three voices at once. 

"Is it anything to do with the row that has been going on?" saidLavinia, eagerly. "There has been such a row in Miss Minchin's room, Miss Amelia has had something like hysterics and has had to go to bed. "

Ermengarde answered them slowly as if she were half stunned. 

"I have just had this letter from Sara, " she said, holding it out tolet them see what a long letter it was. 

"From Sara!" Every voice joined in that exclamation. 

"Where is she?" almost shrieked Jessie. 

"Next door, " said Ermengarde, "with the Indian gentleman. "

"Where? Where? Has she been sent away? Does Miss Minchin know? Wasthe row about that? Why did she write? Tell us! Tell us!"

There was a perfect babel, and Lottie began to cry plaintively. 

Ermengarde answered them slowly as if she were half plunged out intowhat, at the moment, seemed the most important and self-explainingthing. 

"There WERE diamond mines, " she said stoutly; "there WERE!" Open mouthsand open eyes confronted her. 

"They were real, " she hurried on. "It was all a mistake about them. Something happened for a time, and Mr. Carrisford thought they wereruined--"

"Who is Mr. Carrisford?" shouted Jessie. 

"The Indian gentleman. And Captain Crewe thought so, too--and he died;and Mr. Carrisford had brain fever and ran away, and HE almost died. And he did not know where Sara was. And it turned out that there weremillions and millions of diamonds in the mines; and half of them belongto Sara; and they belonged to her when she was living in the attic withno one but Melchisedec for a friend, and the cook ordering her about. And Mr. Carrisford found her this afternoon, and he has got her in hishome--and she will never come back--and she will be more a princessthan she ever was--a hundred and fifty thousand times more. And I amgoing to see her tomorrow afternoon. There!"

Even Miss Minchin herself could scarcely have controlled the uproarafter this; and though she heard the noise, she did not try. She wasnot in the mood to face anything more than she was facing in her room, while Miss Amelia was weeping in bed. She knew that the news hadpenetrated the walls in some mysterious manner, and that every servantand every child would go to bed talking about it. 

So until almost midnight the entire seminary, realizing somehow thatall rules were laid aside, crowded round Ermengarde in the schoolroomand heard read and re-read the letter containing a story which wasquite as wonderful as any Sara herself had ever invented, and which hadthe amazing charm of having happened to Sara herself and the mysticIndian gentleman in the very next house. 

Becky, who had heard it also, managed to creep up stairs earlier thanusual. She wanted to get away from people and go and look at thelittle magic room once more. She did not know what would happen to it. It was not likely that it would be left to Miss Minchin. It would betaken away, and the attic would be bare and empty again. Glad as shewas for Sara's sake, she went up the last flight of stairs with a lumpin her throat and tears blurring her sight. There would be no firetonight, and no rosy lamp; no supper, and no princess sitting in theglow reading or telling stories--no princess!

She choked down a sob as she pushed the attic door open, and then shebroke into a low cry. 

The lamp was flushing the room, the fire was blazing, the supper waswaiting; and Ram Dass was standing smiling into her startled face. 

"Missee sahib remembered, " he said. "She told the sahib all. Shewished you to know the good fortune which has befallen her. Behold aletter on the tray. She has written. She did not wish that you shouldgo to sleep unhappy. The sahib commands you to come to him tomorrow. You are to be the attendant of missee sahib. Tonight I take thesethings back over the roof. "

And having said this with a beaming face, he made a little salaam andslipped through the skylight with an agile silentness of movement whichshowed Becky how easily he had done it before. 

19

Anne

Never had such joy reigned in the nursery of the Large Family. Neverhad they dreamed of such delights as resulted from an intimateacquaintance with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. The mere factof her sufferings and adventures made her a priceless possession. Everybody wanted to be told over and over again the things which hadhappened to her. When one was sitting by a warm fire in a big, glowingroom, it was quite delightful to hear how cold it could be in an attic. It must be admitted that the attic was rather delighted in, and thatits coldness and bareness quite sank into insignificance whenMelchisedec was remembered, and one heard about the sparrows and thingsone could see if one climbed on the table and stuck one's head andshoulders out of the skylight. 

Of course the thing loved best was the story of the banquet and thedream which was true. Sara told it for the first time the day aftershe had been found. Several members of the Large Family came to taketea with her, and as they sat or curled up on the hearth-rug she toldthe story in her own way, and the Indian gentleman listened and watchedher. When she had finished she looked up at him and put her hand on hisknee. 

"That is my part, " she said. "Now won't you tell your part of it, Uncle Tom?" He had asked her to call him always "Uncle Tom. " "I don'tknow your part yet, and it must be beautiful. "

So he told them how, when he sat alone, ill and dull and irritable, RamDass had tried to distract him by describing the passers by, and therewas one child who passed oftener than any one else; he had begun to beinterested in her--partly perhaps because he was thinking a great dealof a little girl, and partly because Ram Dass had been able to relatethe incident of his visit to the attic in chase of the monkey. He haddescribed its cheerless look, and the bearing of the child, who seemedas if she was not of the class of those who were treated as drudges andservants. Bit by bit, Ram Dass had made discoveries concerning thewretchedness of her life. He had found out how easy a matter it was toclimb across the few yards of roof to the skylight, and this fact hadbeen the beginning of all that followed. 

"Sahib, " he had said one day, "I could cross the slates and make thechild a fire when she is out on some errand. When she returned, wetand cold, to find it blazing, she would think a magician had done it. "

The idea had been so fanciful that Mr. Carrisford's sad face hadlighted with a smile, and Ram Dass had been so filled with rapture thathe had enlarged upon it and explained to his master how simple it wouldbe to accomplish numbers of other things. He had shown a childlikepleasure and invention, and the preparations for the carrying out ofthe plan had filled many a day with interest which would otherwise havedragged wearily. On the night of the frustrated banquet Ram Dass hadkept watch, all his packages being in readiness in the attic which washis own; and the person who was to help him had waited with him, asinterested as himself in the odd adventure. Ram Dass had been lyingflat upon the slates, looking in at the skylight, when the banquet hadcome to its disastrous conclusion; he had been sure of the profoundnessof Sara's wearied sleep; and then, with a dark lantern, he had creptinto the room, while his companion remained outside and handed thethings to him. When Sara had stirred ever so faintly, Ram Dass hadclosed the lantern-slide and lain flat upon the floor. These and manyother exciting things the children found out by asking a thousandquestions. 

"I am so glad, " Sara said. "I am so GLAD it was you who were my friend!"

There never were such friends as these two became. Somehow, theyseemed to suit each other in a wonderful way. The Indian gentleman hadnever had a companion he liked quite as much as he liked Sara. In amonth's time he was, as Mr. Carmichael had prophesied he would be, anew man. He was always amused and interested, and he began to find anactual pleasure in the possession of the wealth he had imagined that heloathed the burden of. There were so many charming things to plan forSara. There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, andit was one of his pleasures to invent things to surprise her. Shefound beautiful new flowers growing in her room, whimsical little giftstucked under pillows, and once, as they sat together in the evening, they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on the door, and when Sara wentto find out what it was, there stood a great dog--a splendid Russianboarhound--with a grand silver and gold collar bearing an inscription. "I am Boris, " it read; "I serve the Princess Sara. "

There was nothing the Indian gentleman loved more than the recollectionof the little princess in rags and tatters. The afternoons in whichthe Large Family, or Ermengarde and Lottie, gathered to rejoicetogether were very delightful. But the hours when Sara and the Indiangentleman sat alone and read or talked had a special charm of theirown. During their passing many interesting things occurred. 

One evening, Mr. Carrisford, looking up from his book, noticed that hiscompanion had not stirred for some time, but sat gazing into the fire. 

"What are you 'supposing, ' Sara?" he asked. 

Sara looked up, with a bright color on her cheek. 

"I WAS supposing, " she said; "I was remembering that hungry day, and achild I saw. "

"But there were a great many hungry days, " said the Indian gentleman, with rather a sad tone in his voice. "Which hungry day was it?"

"I forgot you didn't know, " said Sara. "It was the day the dream cametrue. "

Then she told him the story of the bun shop, and the fourpence shepicked up out of the sloppy mud, and the child who was hungrier thanherself. She told it quite simply, and in as few words as possible;but somehow the Indian gentleman found it necessary to shade his eyeswith his hand and look down at the carpet. 

"And I was supposing a kind of plan, " she said, when she had finished. "I was thinking I should like to do something. "

"What was it?" said Mr. Carrisford, in a low tone. "You may doanything you like to do, princess. "

"I was wondering, " rather hesitated Sara--"you know, you say I have somuch money--I was wondering if I could go to see the bun-woman, andtell her that if, when hungry children--particularly on those dreadfuldays--come and sit on the steps, or look in at the window, she wouldjust call them in and give them something to eat, she might send thebills to me. Could I do that?"

"You shall do it tomorrow morning, " said the Indian gentleman. 

"Thank you, " said Sara. "You see, I know what it is to be hungry, andit is very hard when one cannot even PRETEND it away. "

"Yes, yes, my dear, " said the Indian gentleman. "Yes, yes, it must be. Try to forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, andonly remember you are a princess. "

"Yes, " said Sara, smiling; "and I can give buns and bread to thepopulace. " And she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian gentleman(he used to like her to call him that, too, sometimes) drew her smalldark head down on his knee and stroked her hair. 

The next morning, Miss Minchin, in looking out of her window, saw thethings she perhaps least enjoyed seeing. The Indian gentleman'scarriage, with its tall horses, drew up before the door of the nexthouse, and its owner and a little figure, warm with soft, rich furs, descended the steps to get into it. The little figure was a familiarone, and reminded Miss Minchin of days in the past. It was followed byanother as familiar--the sight of which she found very irritating. Itwas Becky, who, in the character of delighted attendant, alwaysaccompanied her young mistress to her carriage, carrying wraps andbelongings. Already Becky had a pink, round face. 

A little later the carriage drew up before the door of the baker'sshop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, just as the bun-womanwas putting a tray of smoking-hot buns into the window. 

When Sara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her, and, leaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment shelooked at Sara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lightedup. 

"I'm sure that I remember you, miss, " she said. "And yet--"

"Yes, " said Sara; "once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and--"

"And you gave five of 'em to a beggar child, " the woman broke in onher. "I've always remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. " Sheturned round to the Indian gentleman and spoke her next words to him. "I beg your pardon, sir, but there's not many young people that noticesa hungry face in that way; and I've thought of it many a time. Excusethe liberty, miss, "--to Sara--"but you look rosier and--well, betterthan you did that--that--"

"I am better, thank you, " said Sara. "And--I am much happier--and Ihave come to ask you to do something for me. "

"Me, miss!" exclaimed the bun-woman, smiling cheerfully. "Why, blessyou! Yes, miss. What can I do?"

And then Sara, leaning on the counter, made her little proposalconcerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the buns. 

The woman watched her, and listened with an astonished face. 

"Why, bless me!" she said again when she had heard it all; "it'll be apleasure to me to do it. I am a working-woman myself and cannot affordto do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on everyside; but, if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given away many abit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinking ofyou--an' how wet an' cold you was, an' how hungry you looked; an' yetyou gave away your hot buns as if you was a princess. "

The Indian gentleman smiled involuntarily at this, and Sara smiled alittle, too, remembering what she had said to herself when she put thebuns down on the ravenous child's ragged lap. 

"She looked so hungry, " she said. "She was even hungrier than I was. "

"She was starving, " said the woman. "Many's the time she's told me ofit since--how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf wasa-tearing at her poor young insides. "

"Oh, have you seen her since then?" exclaimed Sara. "Do you know whereshe is?"

"Yes, I do, " answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly than ever. "Why, she's in that there back room, miss, an' has been for a month;an' a decent, well-meanin' girl she's goin' to turn out, an' such ahelp to me in the shop an' in the kitchen as you'd scarce believe, knowin' how she's lived. "

She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and thenext minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. Andactually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and lookingas if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but shehad a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage, and the wild lookhad gone from her eyes. She knew Sara in an instant, and stood andlooked at her as if she could never look enough. 

"You see, " said the woman, "I told her to come when she was hungry, andwhen she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do; an' I found she waswilling, and somehow I got to like her; and the end of it was, I'vegiven her a place an' a home, and she helps me, an' behaves well, an'is as thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne. She has no other. "

The children stood and looked at each other for a few minutes; and thenSara took her hand out of her muff and held it out across the counter, and Anne took it, and they looked straight into each other's eyes. 

"I am so glad, " Sara said. "And I have just thought of something. Perhaps Mrs. Brown will let you be the one to give the buns and breadto the children. Perhaps you would like to do it because you know whatit is to be hungry, too. "

"Yes, miss, " said the girl. 

And, somehow, Sara felt as if she understood her, though she said solittle, and only stood still and looked and looked after her as shewent out of the shop with the Indian gentleman, and they got into thecarriage and drove away.