SARA CREWE

 OR

 WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S

[Illustration: "SHE LAID HER DOLL, EMILY, ACROSS HER KNEES, AND PUT HERFACE DOWN UPON HER, AND HER ARMS AROUND HER, AND SAT THERE, NOT SAYINGONE WORD, NOT MAKING ONE SOUND. "]

 SARA CREWE

 OR

 WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S

 BY

 FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT

 NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1891

 COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. 

 [_All rights reserved. _]

 Press of J. J. Little & Co. , Astor Place, New York. 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FROM DRAWINGS BY REGINALD B. BIRCH. 

"She laid her doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her face down uponher, and her arms around her, and sat there, not saying one word, notmaking one sound. " Frontispiece. 

"She slowly advanced into the parlor, clutching her doll. " Page 15

"Eat it, " said Sara, "and you will not be so hungry. " " 41

"He was waiting for his Master to come out to the carriage, and Sarastopped and spoke a few words to him. " " 49

"The monkey seemed much interested in her remarks. " " 63

"He drew her small, dark head down upon his knee and stroked herhair. " " 79

[Illustration]

 SARA CREWE;

 OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S. 

In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, dull, tall one, in a large, dull square, where all the houses werealike, and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockersmade the same heavy sound, and on still days--and nearly all the dayswere still--seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knockwas knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was a brass plate. On thebrass plate there was inscribed in black letters, +----------------------------------------+ | | | MISS MINCHIN'S | | | | SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES. | | | +----------------------------------------+

Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house without readingthat door-plate and reflecting upon it. By the time she was twelve, shehad decided that all her trouble arose because, in the first place, shewas not "Select, " and in the second, she was not a "Young Lady. " Whenshe was eight years old, she had been brought to Miss Minchin as apupil, and left with her. Her papa had brought her all the way fromIndia. Her mamma had died when she was a baby, and her papa had kept herwith him as long as he could. And then, finding the hot climate wasmaking her very delicate, he had brought her to England and left herwith Miss Minchin, to be part of the Select Seminary for Young Ladies. Sara, who had always been a sharp little child, who remembered things, recollected hearing him say that he had not a relative in the world whomhe knew of, and so he was obliged to place her at a boarding-school, andhe had heard Miss Minchin's establishment spoken of very highly. Thesame day, he took Sara out and bought her a great many beautifulclothes--clothes so grand and rich that only a very young andinexperienced man would have bought them for a mite of a child who wasto be brought up in a boarding-school. But the fact was that he was arash, innocent young man, and very sad at the thought of parting withhis little girl, who was all he had left to remind him of her beautifulmother, whom he had dearly loved. And he wished her to have everythingthe most fortunate little girl could have; and so, when the politesaleswomen in the shops said, "Here is our very latest thing in hats, the plumes are exactly the same as those we sold to Lady Diana Sinclairyesterday, " he immediately bought what was offered to him, and paidwhatever was asked. The consequence was that Sara had a mostextraordinary wardrobe. Her dresses were silk and velvet and Indiacashmere, her hats and bonnets were covered with bows and plumes, hersmall undergarments were adorned with real lace, and she returned in thecab to Miss Minchin's with a doll almost as large as herself, dressedquite as grandly as herself, too. 

Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money and went away, and forseveral days Sara would neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, norher dinner, nor her tea, and would do nothing but crouch in a smallcorner by the window and cry. She cried so much, indeed, that she madeherself ill. She was a queer little child, with old-fashioned ways andstrong feelings, and she had adored her papa, and could not be made tothink that India and an interesting bungalow were not better for herthan London and Miss Minchin's Select Seminary. The instant she hadentered the house, she had begun promptly to hate Miss Minchin, and tothink little of Miss Amelia Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, andlisped, and was evidently afraid of her older sister. Miss Minchin wastall, and had large, cold, fishy eyes, and large, cold hands, whichseemed fishy, too, because they were damp and made chills run downSara's back when they touched her, as Miss Minchin pushed her hair offher forehead and said:

"A most beautiful and promising little girl, Captain Crewe. She will bea favorite pupil; _quite_ a favorite pupil, I see. "

For the first year she was a favorite pupil; at least she was indulgeda great deal more than was good for her. And when the Select Seminarywent walking, two by two, she was always decked out in her grandestclothes, and led by the hand, at the head of the genteel procession, byMiss Minchin herself. And when the parents of any of the pupils came, she was always dressed and called into the parlor with her doll; and sheused to hear Miss Minchin say that her father was a distinguished Indianofficer, and she would be heiress to a great fortune. That her fatherhad inherited a great deal of money, Sara had heard before; and alsothat some day it would be hers, and that he would not remain long in thearmy, but would come to live in London. And every time a letter came, she hoped it would say he was coming, and they were to live togetheragain. 

But about the middle of the third year a letter came bringing verydifferent news. Because he was not a business man himself, her papa hadgiven his affairs into the hands of a friend he trusted. The friend haddeceived and robbed him. All the money was gone, no one knew exactlywhere, and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young officer, that, being attacked by jungle fever shortly afterward, he had no strength torally, and so died, leaving Sara with no one to take care of her. 

Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never looked so cold and fishy asthey did when Sara went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few daysafter the letter was received. 

No one had said anything to the child about mourning, so, in herold-fashioned way, she had decided to find a black dress for herself, and had picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and came into theroom in it, looking the queerest little figure in the world, and a sadlittle figure too. The dress was too short and too tight, her face waswhite, her eyes had dark rings around them, and her doll, wrapped in apiece of old black crape, was held under her arm. She was not a prettychild. She was thin, and had a weird, interesting little face, shortblack hair, and very large, green-gray eyes fringed all around withheavy black lashes. 

"I am the ugliest child in the school, " she had said once, after staringat herself in the glass for some minutes. 

But there had been a clever, good-natured little French teacher who hadsaid to the music-master:

"Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! Ze so large eyes! zeso little spirituelle face. Waid till she grow up. You shall see!"

This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she lookedthinner and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchinwith a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor, clutching her doll. 

[Illustration: "SHE SLOWLY ADVANCED INTO THE PARLOR, CLUTCHING HERDOLL. "]

"Put your doll down!" said Miss Minchin. 

"No, " said the child, "I won't put her down; I want her with me. She isall I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died. "

She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever sinceshe was born, and there was about her an air of silent determinationunder which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. Andthat lady felt even now that perhaps it would be as well not to insiston her point. So she looked at her as severely as possible. 

"You will have no time for dolls in future, " she said; "you will have towork and improve yourself, and make yourself useful. "

Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher and said nothing. 

"Everything will be very different now, " Miss Minchin went on. "I sentfor you to talk to you and make you understand. Your father is dead. Youhave no friends. You have no money. You have no home and no one to takecare of you. "

The little pale olive face twitched nervously, but the green-gray eyesdid not move from Miss Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing. 

"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Minchin sharply. "Are you sostupid you don't understand what I mean? I tell you that you are quitealone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless Ichoose to keep you here. "

The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. To be suddenlydeprived of a large sum of money yearly and a show pupil, and to findherself with a little beggar on her hands, was more than she could bearwith any degree of calmness. 

"Now listen to me, " she went on, "and remember what I say. If you workhard and prepare to make yourself useful in a few years, I shall let youstay here. You are only a child, but you are a sharp child, and you pickup things almost without being taught. You speak French very well, andin a year or so you can begin to help with the younger pupils. By thetime you are fifteen you ought to be able to do that much at least. "

"I can speak French better than you, now, " said Sara; "I always spoke itwith my papa in India. " Which was not at all polite, but was painfullytrue; because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, and, indeed, was not in the least a clever person. But she was a hard, graspingbusiness woman; and, after the first shock of disappointment, had seenthat at very little expense to herself she might prepare this clever, determined child to be very useful to her and save her the necessity ofpaying large salaries to teachers of languages. 

"Don't be impudent, or you will be punished, " she said. "You will haveto improve your manners if you expect to earn your bread. You are not aparlor boarder now. Remember that if you don't please me, and I send youaway, you have no home but the street. You can go now. "

Sara turned away. 

"Stay, " commanded Miss Minchin, "don't you intend to thank me?"

Sara turned toward her. The nervous twitch was to be seen again in herface, and she seemed to be trying to control it. 

"What for?" she said. 

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

Sara went two or three steps nearer to her. Her thin little chest washeaving up and down, and she spoke in a strange, unchildish voice. 

"You are not kind, " she said. "You are not kind. " And she turned againand went out of the room, leaving Miss Minchin staring after herstrange, small figure in stony anger. 

The child walked up the staircase, holding tightly to her doll; shemeant to go to her bedroom, but at the door she was met by Miss Amelia. 

"You are not to go in there, " she said. "That is not your room now. "

"Where is my room?" asked Sara. 

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

Sara walked on. She mounted two flights more, and reached the door ofthe attic room, opened it and went in, shutting it behind her. She stoodagainst it and looked about her. The room was slanting-roofed andwhitewashed; there was a rusty grate, an iron bedstead, and some oddarticles of furniture, sent up from better rooms below, where they hadbeen used until they were considered to be worn out. Under the skylightin the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, there was a battered old red footstool. 

Sara went to it and sat down. She was a queer child, as I have saidbefore, and quite unlike other children. She seldom cried. She did notcry now. She laid her doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her facedown upon her, and her arms around her, and sat there, her little blackhead resting on the black crape, not saying one word, not making onesound. 

 * * * * *

From that day her life changed entirely. Sometimes she used to feel asif it must be another life altogether, the life of some other child. Shewas a little drudge and outcast; she was given her lessons at odd timesand expected to learn without being taught; she was sent on errands byMiss Minchin, Miss Amelia and the cook. Nobody took any notice of herexcept when they ordered her about. She was often kept busy all day andthen sent into the deserted school-room with a pile of books to learnher lessons or practise at night. She had never been intimate with theother pupils, and soon she became so shabby that, taking her queerclothes together with her queer little ways, they began to look upon heras a being of another world than their own. The fact was that, as arule, Miss Minchin's pupils were rather dull, matter-of-fact youngpeople, accustomed to being rich and comfortable; and Sara, with herelfish cleverness, her desolate life, and her odd habit of fixing hereyes upon them and staring them out of countenance, was too much forthem. 

"She always looks as if she was finding you out, " said one girl, who wassly and given to making mischief. "I am, " said Sara promptly, when sheheard of it. "That's what I look at them for. I like to know aboutpeople. I think them over afterward. "

She never made any mischief herself or interfered with any one. Shetalked very little, did as she was told, and thought a great deal. Nobody knew, and in fact nobody cared, whether she was unhappy or happy, unless, perhaps, it was Emily, who lived in the attic and slept on theiron bedstead at night. Sara thought Emily understood her feelings, though she was only wax and had a habit of staring herself. Sara used totalk to her at night. 

"You are the only friend I have in the world, " she would say to her. "Why don't you say something? Why don't you speak? Sometimes I am sureyou could, if you would try. It ought to make you try, to know you arethe only thing I have. If I were you, I should try. Why don't you try?"

It really was a very strange feeling she had about Emily. It arose fromher being so desolate. She did not like to own to herself that her onlyfriend, her only companion, could feel and hear nothing. She wanted tobelieve, or to pretend to believe, that Emily understood and sympathizedwith her, that she heard her even though she did not speak in answer. She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on theold red footstool, and stare at her and think and pretend about heruntil her own eyes would grow large with something which was almost likefear, particularly at night, when the garret was so still, when the onlysound that was to be heard was the occasional squeak and scurry of ratsin the wainscot. There were rat-holes in the garret, and Sara detestedrats, and was always glad Emily was with her when she heard theirhateful squeak and rush and scratching. One of her "pretends" was thatEmily was a kind of good witch and could protect her. Poor little Sara!everything was "pretend" with her. She had a strong imagination; therewas almost more imagination than there was Sara, and her whole forlorn, uncared-for child-life was made up of imaginings. She imagined andpretended things until she almost believed them, and she would scarcelyhave been surprised at any remarkable thing that could have happened. Soshe insisted to herself that Emily understood all about her troubles andwas really her friend. 

"As to answering, " she used to say, "I don't answer very often. I neveranswer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there isnothing so good for them as not to say a word--just to look at them and_think_. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it. Miss Amelialooks frightened, so do the girls. They know you are stronger than theyare, because you are strong enough to hold in your rage and they arenot, and they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold itin--that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. Iscarcely ever do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it allin her heart. "

But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, Sara 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; and, when she came in wet and hungry, had been sent out againbecause nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that herthin little legs might be tired, and her small body, clad in itsforlorn, too small finery, all too short and too tight, might bechilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold, slightinglooks for thanks; when the cook had been vulgar and insolent; when MissMinchin had been in her worst moods, and when she had seen the girlssneering at her among themselves and making fun of her poor, outgrownclothes--then Sara did not find Emily quite all that her sore, proud, desolate little heart needed as the doll sat in her little old chair andstared. 

One of these nights, when she came up to the garret cold, hungry, tired, and with a tempest raging in her small breast, Emily's stare seemed sovacant, her sawdust legs and arms so limp and inexpressive, that Saralost all control over herself. 

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

Emily stared. 

"I can't bear this!" said the poor child, trembling. "I know I shalldie. I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm starving to death. I've walked a thousandmiles to-day, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning untilnight. And because I could not find that last thing they sent me for, they would not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me because my oldshoes made me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And theylaughed! Do you _hear_!"

She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent wax face, andsuddenly a sort of heart-broken rage seized her. She lifted her littlesavage hand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion ofsobbing. 

"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 a_doll_!"

Emily lay upon the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up overher head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was stillcalm, even dignified. 

Sara hid her face on her arms and sobbed. Some rats in the wall began tofight and bite each other, and squeak and scramble. But, as I havealready intimated, Sara was not in the habit of crying. After a whileshe stopped, and when she stopped she looked at Emily, who seemed to begazing at her around the side of one ankle, and actually with a kind ofglassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook her. 

"You can't help being a doll, " she said, with a resigned sigh, "any morethan those girls downstairs can help not having any sense. We are notall alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best. "

None of Miss Minchin's young ladies were very remarkable for beingbrilliant; they were select, but some of them were very dull, and someof them were fond of applying themselves to their lessons. Sara, whosnatched her lessons at all sorts of untimely hours from tattered anddiscarded books, and who had a hungry craving for everything readable, was often severe upon them in her small mind. They had books they neverread; she had no books at all. If she had always had something to read, she would not have been so lonely. She liked romances and history andpoetry; she would read anything. There was a sentimental housemaid inthe establishment who bought the weekly penny papers, and subscribed toa circulating library, from which she got greasy volumes containingstories of marquises and dukes who invariably fell in love withorange-girls and gypsies and servant-maids, and made them the proudbrides of coronets; and Sara often did parts of this maid's work so thatshe might earn the privilege of reading these romantic histories. Therewas also a fat, dull pupil, whose name was Ermengarde St. John, who wasone of her resources. Ermengarde had an intellectual father who, in hisdespairing desire to encourage his daughter, constantly sent hervaluable and interesting books, which were a continual source of griefto her. Sara had once actually found her crying over a big package ofthem. 

"What is the matter with you?" she asked her, perhaps ratherdisdainfully. 

And it is just possible she would not have spoken to her, if she had notseen the books. The sight of books always gave Sara a hungry feeling, and she could not help drawing near to them if only to read theirtitles. 

"What is the matter with you?" she asked. 

"My papa has sent me some more books, " answered Ermengarde woefully, "and he expects me to read them. "

"Don't you like reading?" said Sara. 

"I hate it!" replied Miss Ermengarde St. John. "And he will ask mequestions when he sees me: he will want to know how much I remember; howwould _you_ like to have to read all those?"

"I'd like it better than anything else in the world, " said Sara. 

Ermengarde wiped her eyes to look at such a prodigy. 

"Oh, gracious!" she exclaimed. 

Sara returned the look with interest. A sudden plan formed itself in hersharp mind. 

"Look here!" she said. "If you'll lend me those books, I'll read themand tell you everything that's in them afterward, and I'll tell it toyou so that you will remember it. I know I can. The A B C childrenalways remember what I tell them. "

"Oh, goodness!" said Ermengarde. "Do you think you could?"

"I know I could, " answered Sara. "I like to read, and I always remember. I'll take care of the books, too; they will look just as new as they donow, when I give them back to you. "

Ermengarde put her handkerchief in her pocket. 

"If you'll do that, " she said, "and if you'll make me remember, I'llgive you--I'll give you some money. "

"I don't want your money, " said Sara. "I want your books--I want them. "And her eyes grew big and queer, and her chest heaved once. 

"Take them, then, " said Ermengarde; "I wish I wanted them, but I am notclever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be. "

Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. But when she was atthe door, she stopped and turned around. 

"What are you going to tell your father?" she asked. 

"Oh, " said Ermengarde, "he needn't know; he'll think I've read them. "

Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began to beat fast. 

"I won't do it, " she said rather slowly, "if you are going to tell himlies about it--I don't like lies. Why can't you tell him I read them andthen told you about them?"

"But he wants me to read them, " said Ermengarde. 

"He wants you to know what is in them, " said Sara; "and if I can tell itto you in an easy way and make you remember, I should think he wouldlike that. "

"He would like it better if I read them myself, " replied Ermengarde. 

"He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in any way, " saidSara. "I should, if I were your father. "

And though this was not a flattering way of stating the case, Ermengardewas obliged to admit it was true, and, after a little more argument, gave in. And so she used afterward always to hand over her books toSara, and Sara would carry them to her garret and devour them; and aftershe had read each volume, she would return it and tell Ermengarde aboutit in a way of her own. She had a gift for making things interesting. Her imagination helped her to make everything rather like a story, andshe managed this matter so well that Miss St. John gained moreinformation from her books than she would have gained if she had readthem three times over by her poor stupid little self. When Sara sat downby her and began to tell some story of travel or history, she made thetravellers and historical people seem real; and Ermengarde used to sitand regard her dramatic gesticulations, her thin little flushed cheeks, and her shining, odd eyes with amazement. 

"It sounds nicer than it seems in the book, " she would say. "I nevercared about Mary, Queen of Scots, before, and I always hated the FrenchRevolution, but you make it seem like a story. "

"It is a story, " Sara would answer. "They are all stories. Everything isa story--everything in this world. You are a story--I am a story--MissMinchin is a story. You can make a story out of anything. "

"I can't, " said Ermengarde. 

Sara stared at her a minute reflectively. 

"No, " she said at last. "I suppose you couldn't. You are a little likeEmily. "

"Who is Emily?"

Sara recollected herself. She knew she was sometimes rather impolite inthe candor of her remarks, and she did not want to be impolite to a girlwho was not unkind--only stupid. Notwithstanding all her sharp littleways she had the sense to wish to be just to everybody. In the hours shespent alone, she used to argue out a great many curious questions withherself. One thing she had decided upon was, that a person who wasclever ought to be clever enough not to be unjust or deliberately unkindto any one. Miss Minchin was unjust and cruel, Miss Amelia was unkindand spiteful, the cook was malicious and hasty-tempered--they all werestupid, and made her despise them, and she desired to be as unlike themas possible. So she would be as polite as she could to people who in theleast deserved politeness. 

"Emily is--a person--I know, " she replied. 

"Do you like her?" asked Ermengarde. 

"Yes, I do, " said Sara. 

Ermengarde examined her queer little face and figure again. She did lookodd. She had on, that day, a faded blue plush skirt, which barelycovered her knees, a brown cloth sacque, and a pair of olive-greenstockings which Miss Minchin had made her piece out with black ones, sothat they would be long enough to be kept on. And yet Ermengarde wasbeginning slowly to admire her. Such a forlorn, thin, neglected littlething as that, who could read and read and remember and tell you thingsso that they did not tire you all out! A child who could speak French, and who had learned German, no one knew how! One could not help staringat her and feeling interested, particularly one to whom the simplestlesson was a trouble and a woe. 

"Do you like _me_?" said Ermengarde, finally, at the end of herscrutiny. 

Sara hesitated one second, then she answered:

"I like you because you are not ill-natured--I like you for letting meread your books--I like you because you don't make spiteful fun of mefor what I can't help. It's not your fault that----"

She pulled herself up quickly. She had been going to say, "that you arestupid. "

"That what?" asked Ermengarde. 

"That you can't learn things quickly. If you can't, you can't. If Ican, why, I can--that's all. " She paused a minute, looking at the plumpface before her, and then, rather slowly, one of her wise, old-fashionedthoughts came to her. 

"Perhaps, " she said, "to be able to learn things quickly isn'teverything. To be kind is worth a good deal to other people. If MissMinchin knew everything on earth, which she doesn't, and if she was likewhat she is now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody wouldhate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and been wicked. Look atRobespierre----"

She stopped again and examined her companion's countenance. 

"Do you remember about him?" she demanded. "I believe you've forgotten. "

"Well, I don't remember _all_ of it, " admitted Ermengarde. 

"Well, " said Sara, with courage and determination, "I'll tell it to youover again. "

And she plunged once more into the gory records of the FrenchRevolution, and told such stories of it, and made such vivid pictures ofits horrors, that Miss St. John was afraid to go to bed afterward, andhid her head under the blankets when she did go, and shivered until shefell asleep. But afterward she preserved lively recollections of thecharacter of Robespierre, and did not even forget Marie Antoinette andthe Princess de Lamballe. 

"You know they put her head on a pike and danced around it, " Sara hadsaid; "and she had beautiful blonde hair; and when I think of her, Inever see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furiouspeople dancing and howling. "

Yes, it was true; to this imaginative child everything was a story; andthe more books she read, the more imaginative she became. One of herchief entertainments was to sit in her garret, or walk about it, and"suppose" things. On a cold night, when she had not had enough to eat, she would draw the red footstool up before the empty grate, and say inthe most intense voice:

"Suppose there was a great, wide steel grate here, and a great glowingfire--a _glowing_ fire--with beds of red-hot coal and lots of littledancing, flickering flames. Suppose there was a soft, deep rug, and thiswas a comfortable chair, all cushions and crimson velvet; and suppose Ihad a crimson velvet frock on, and a deep lace collar, like a child in apicture; and suppose all the rest of the room was furnished in lovelycolors, and there were book-shelves full of books, which changed bymagic as soon as you had read them; and suppose there was a little tablehere, with a snow-white cover on it, and little silver dishes, and inone there was hot, hot soup, and in another a roast chicken, and inanother some raspberry-jam tarts with criss-cross on them, and inanother some grapes; and suppose Emily could speak, and we could sit andeat our supper, and then talk and read; and then suppose there was asoft, warm bed in the corner, and when we were tired we could go tosleep, and sleep as long as we liked. "

Sometimes, after she had supposed things like these for half an hour, she would feel almost warm, and would creep into bed with Emily and fallasleep with a smile on her face. 

"What large, downy pillows!" she would whisper. "What white sheets andfleecy blankets!" And she almost forgot that her real pillows hadscarcely any feathers in them at all, and smelled musty, and that herblankets and coverlid were thin and full of holes. 

At another time she would "suppose" she was a princess, and then shewould go about the house with an expression on her face which was asource of great secret annoyance to Miss Minchin, because it seemed asif the child scarcely heard the spiteful, insulting things said to her, or, if she heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, whileshe was in the midst of some harsh and cruel speech, Miss Minchin wouldfind the odd, unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proudsmile in them. At such times she did not know that Sara was saying toherself:

"You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and thatif I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spareyou because I _am_ a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, old, vulgarthing, and don't know any better. "

This used to please and amuse her more than anything else; and queer andfanciful as it was, she found comfort in it, and it was not a bad thingfor her. It really kept her from being made rude and malicious by therudeness and malice of those about her. 

"A princess must be polite, " she said to herself. And so when theservants, who took their tone from their mistress, were insolent andordered her about, she would hold her head erect, and reply to themsometimes in a way which made them stare at her, it was so quaintlycivil. 

"I am a princess in rags and tatters, " she would think, "but I am aprincess, inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed incloth-of-gold; it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all thetime when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette: when she was inprison, and her throne was gone, and she had only a black gown on, andher hair was white, and they insulted her and called her the WidowCapet, --she was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was sogay and had everything grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobsof people did not frighten her. She was stronger than they were evenwhen they cut her head off. "

Once when such thoughts were passing through her mind the look in hereyes so enraged Miss Minchin that she flew at Sara and boxed her ears. 

Sara awakened from her dream, started a little, and then broke into alaugh. 

"What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child!" exclaimed MissMinchin. 

It took Sara a few seconds to remember she was a princess. Her cheekswere red and smarting from the blows she had received. 

"I was thinking, " she said. 

"Beg my pardon immediately, " said Miss Minchin. 

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

"What were you thinking?" demanded Miss Minchin. "How dare you think?What were you thinking?"

This occurred in the school-room, and all the girls looked up from theirbooks to listen. It always interested them when Miss Minchin flew atSara, because Sara always said something queer, and never seemed in theleast frightened. She was not in the least frightened now, though herboxed ears were scarlet, and her eyes were as bright as stars. 

"I was thinking, " she answered gravely and quite politely, "that you didnot know what you were doing. "

"That I did not know what I was doing!" Miss Minchin fairly gasped. 

"Yes, " said Sara, "and I was thinking what would happen, if I were 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 picture so clearly before her eyes, that she spokein a manner which had an effect even on Miss Minchin. It almost seemedfor the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be somereal power behind this candid daring. 

"What!" she exclaimed, "found out what?"

"That I really was a princess, " said Sara, "and could doanything--anything I liked. "

"Go to your room, " cried Miss Minchin breathlessly, "this instant. Leavethe school-room. Attend to your lessons, young ladies. "

Sara made a little bow. 

"Excuse me for laughing, if it was impolite, " she said, and walked outof the room, leaving Miss Minchin in a rage and the girls whisperingover their books. 

"I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to be something, "said one of them. "Suppose she should!"

 * * * * *

That very afternoon Sara had an opportunity of proving to herselfwhether she was really a princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon. For several days it had rained continuously, the streets were chilly andsloppy; there was mud everywhere--sticky London mud--and over everythinga pall of fog and drizzle. Of course there were several long andtiresome errands to be done, --there always were on days like this, --andSara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were dampthrough. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggledand absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes were so wet they couldnot hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of herdinner, because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was very hungry. She was so cold and hungry and tired that her little face had a pinchedlook, and now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in thecrowded street glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, trying to comfort herself in that queer way of hers bypretending and "supposing, "--but really this time it was harder than shehad ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her morecold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately. "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, andshould eat them all without stopping. "

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was anodd thing which happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just asshe was saying this to herself--the mud was dreadful--she almost had towade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could notsave herself much, only, in picking her way she had to look down at herfeet and the mud, and in looking down--just as she reached thepavement--she saw something shining in the gutter. A piece of silver--atiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough leftto shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it--afour-penny piece! In one second it was in her cold, little red and bluehand. 

"Oh!" she gasped. "It is true!"

And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight before her at theshop directly facing her. And it was a baker's, and a cheerful, stout, motherly woman, with rosy cheeks, was just putting into the window atray of delicious hot buns, --large, plump, shiny buns, with currants inthem. 

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 that 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 streams of passing people who crowded and jostledeach other all through the day. 

"But I'll go and ask the baker's woman if she has lost a piece ofmoney, " she said to herself, rather faintly. 

So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step of theshop; and as she did so she saw something which made her stop. 

It was a little figure more forlorn than her own--a little figure whichwas not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red andmuddy feet peeped out--only because the rags with which the wearer wastrying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared ashock 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 more room. She was used tobeing 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 four-penny piece, and hesitated a few seconds. Then she spoke to her. 

"Are you hungry?" she asked. 

The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. 

"Ain't I jist!" she said, in a hoarse voice. "Jist ain't I!"

"Haven't you had any dinner?" said Sara. 

"No dinner, " more hoarsely still and with more shuffling, "nor yet nobre'fast--nor yet no supper--nor nothin'. "

"Since when?" asked Sara. 

"Dun'no. Never got nothin' to-day--nowhere. I've axed and axed. "

Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those 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 theywere poor and driven from their thrones--they always shared--with thePopulace--if they met one poorer and hungrier. They always shared. Bunsare a penny each. If it had been sixpence! I could have eaten six. Itwon't be enough for either of us--but it will be better than nothing. "

"Wait a minute, " she said to the beggar-child. She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled delightfully. The woman was just going to putmore hot buns in 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 at her--at her intense little face anddraggled, once-fine clothes. 

"Bless us--no, " she answered. "Did you find it?"

"In the gutter, " said Sara. 

"Keep it, then, " said the woman. "It may have been there a week, andgoodness knows who lost it. _You_ could never find out. "

"I know that, " said Sara, "but I thought 'd 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, asshe saw Sara glance toward the buns. 

"Four buns, if you please, " said Sara; "those at a penny each. "

The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticedthat she put in six. 

"I said four, if you please, " she explained. "I have only thefourpence. "

"I'll throw in two for make-weight, " said the woman, with hergood-natured look. "I dare say you can eat them some time. Aren't youhungry?"

A mist rose before Sara's eyes. 

"Yes, " she answered. "I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you foryour kindness, and, " she was going to add, "there is a child outside whois hungrier than I am. " But just at that moment two or three customerscame in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thankthe woman again and go out. 

The child was still huddled up on the corner of the steps. She lookedfrightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid lookof suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her suddenly draw theback of her roughened, black hand across her eyes to rub away the tearswhich seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under herlids. She was muttering to herself. 

Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which hadalready warmed her cold hands a little. 

"See, " she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, "that is nice andhot. Eat it, and you will not be so hungry. "

[Illustration: "EAT IT, " SAID SARA, "AND YOU WILL NOT BE SO HUNGRY. "]

The child started and stared up at her; then she snatched up the bunand began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. 

"Oh, my! Oh, my!" Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. 

"_Oh, my!_"

Sara took out three more buns and put them down. 

"She is hungrier than I am, " she said to herself. "She's starving. " Buther hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. "I'm not starving, "she said--and she put down the fifth. 

The little starving London savage was still snatching and devouring whenshe turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if shehad been taught politeness--which she had not. She was only a poorlittle wild animal. 

"Good-bye, " said Sara. 

When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The childhad a bun in both hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite towatch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after anotherstare, --a curious, longing 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 glanced out of her shop-window. 

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If that young 'un hasn't given her bunsto a beggar-child! It wasn't because she didn't want them, either--well, well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she didit for. " She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoketo the beggar-child. 

"Who gave you those buns?" she asked her. 

The child nodded her head toward Sara's vanishing figure. 

"What did she say?" inquired the woman. 

"Axed me if I was 'ungry, " replied the hoarse voice. 

"What did you say?"

"Said I was jist!"

"And then she came in and got buns and came out and gave them to you, did she?"

The child nodded. 

"How many?"

"Five. "

The woman thought it over. "Left just one for herself, " she said, in alow voice. "And she could have eaten the whole six--I saw it in hereyes. "

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 she shouldn'thave had a dozen. "

Then she turned to the child. 

"Are you hungry, yet?" she asked. 

"I'm allus 'ungry, " was the answer; "but 'tain't so bad as it was. "

"Come in here, " said the woman, and she held open the shop-door. 

The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place fullof bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going tohappen; she did not care, even. 

"Get yourself warm, " said the woman, pointing to a fire in a tiny backroom. "And, look here, --when you're hard up for a bite of bread, you cancome here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it to you for thatyoung un's sake. "

 * * * * *

Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. It was hot; and it was agreat deal better than nothing. She broke off small pieces and ate themslowly to make it last longer. 

"Suppose it was a magic bun, " she said, "and a bite was as much as awhole dinner. I should be over-eating myself if I went on like this. "

It was dark when she reached the square in which Miss Minchin's SelectSeminary was situated; the lamps were lighted, and in most of thewindows gleams of light were to be seen. It always interested Sara tocatch glimpses of the rooms before the shutters were closed. She likedto imagine things about people who sat before the fires in the houses, or who bent over books at the tables. There was, for instance, the LargeFamily opposite. She called these people the Large Family--not becausethey were large, for indeed most of them were little, --but because therewere so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, and a stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosygrandmamma, 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 kiss their papa and dancearound him and drag off his overcoat and look for packages in thepockets of it; or they were crowding about the nursery windows andlooking out and pushing each other and laughing, --in fact they werealways doing something which seemed enjoyable and suited to the tastesof a large family. Sara was quite attached to them, and had given themall names out of books. She called them the Montmorencys, when she didnot call them the Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace cap wasEthelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet CholmondelyMontmorency; the little boy who could just stagger, and who had suchround legs, was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came LilianEvangeline, Guy Clarence, Maud Marian, Rosalind Gladys, VeronicaEustacia, and Claude Harold Hector. 

Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden Lady, who had acompanion, and two parrots, and a King Charles spaniel; but Sara was notso very fond of her, because she did nothing in particular but talk tothe parrots and drive out with the spaniel. The most interesting personof all lived next door to Miss Minchin herself. Sara called him theIndian Gentleman. He was an elderly gentleman who was said to have livedin the East Indies, and to be immensely rich and to have something thematter with his liver, --in fact, it had been rumored that he had noliver at all, and was much inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate, hewas very yellow and he did not look happy; and when he went out to hiscarriage, he was almost always wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as ifhe were cold. He had a native servant who looked even colder thanhimself, and he had a monkey who looked colder than the native servant. Sara had seen the monkey sitting on a table, in the sun, in the parlorwindow, and he always wore such a mournful expression that shesympathized with him deeply. 

"I dare say, " she used sometimes to remark to herself, "he is thinkingall the time of cocoanut trees and of swinging by his tail under atropical sun. He might have had a family dependent on him too, poorthing!"

The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, buthe was evidently very faithful to his master. 

"Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy rebellion, " shethought. "They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. Iwish I could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani. "

And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound ofhis own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He waswaiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who wasgoing on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had aspecial gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to makeherself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke tohim quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at hercuriously. And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams ofthe most profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a fewwords. She learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich--thathe was ill--and also that he had no wife nor children, and that Englanddid not agree with the monkey. 

[Illustration: "HE WAS WAITING FOR HIS MASTER TO COME OUT TO THECARRIAGE, AND SARA STOPPED AND SPOKE A FEW WORDS TO HIM. "]

"He must be as lonely as I am, " thought Sara. "Being rich does not seemto make him happy. "

That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing theshutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was abright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sittingbefore it, in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, andlooked delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with hishead resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. 

"Poor man!" said Sara; "I wonder what _you_ are 'supposing'?"

When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin in the hall. 

"Where have you wasted your time?" said Miss Minchin. "You have beenout for hours!"

"It was so wet and muddy, " Sara answered. "It was hard to walk, becausemy shoes were so bad and slipped about so. "

"Make no excuses, " said Miss Minchin, "and tell no falsehoods. "

Sara went downstairs to the kitchen. 

"Why didn't you stay all night?" said the cook. 

"Here are the things, " said Sara, and laid her purchases on the table. 

The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in a very bad temperindeed. 

"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 was silent a second. 

"I had no dinner, " she said, and her voice was quite low. She made itlow, 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 cook wasin too bad a humor to give her anything to eat with it. She had justbeen scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always safe and easy to venther own spite on Sara. 

Really it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights ofstairs leading to her garret. She often found them long and steep whenshe was tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would never reach thetop. Several times a lump rose in her throat and she was obliged to stopto rest. 

"I can't pretend anything more to-night, " she said wearily to herself. "I'm sure I can't. I'll eat my bread and drink some water and then go tosleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me. I wonder whatdreams are. "

Yes, when she reached the top landing there were tears in her eyes, andshe did not feel like a princess--only like a tired, hungry, lonely, lonely child. 

"If my papa had lived, " she said, "they would not have treated me likethis. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me. "

Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. 

Can you imagine it--can you believe it? I find it hard to believe itmyself. And Sara found it impossible; for the first few moments shethought something strange had happened to her eyes--to her mind--thatthe dream had come before she had had time to fall asleep. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Oh! It isn't true! I know, I know itisn't true!" And she slipped into the room and closed the door andlocked it, and stood with her back against it, staring straight beforeher. 

Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been empty and rusty and coldwhen she left it, but which now was blackened and polished up quiterespectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On the hob was a littlebrass kettle, hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm, thick rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded and withcushions on it; by the chair was a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it were spread small covereddishes, a cup and saucer, and a tea-pot; on the bed were new, warmcoverings, a curious wadded silk robe, and some books. The little, cold, miserable room seemed changed into Fairyland. It was actually warm andglowing. 

"It is bewitched!" said Sara. "Or _I_ am bewitched. I only _think_ I seeit all; but if I can only keep on thinking it, I don't care--I don'tcare--if I can only keep it up!"

She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. She stood with herback against the door and looked and looked. But soon she began to feelwarm, and then she moved forward. 

"A fire that I only _thought_ I saw surely wouldn't _feel_ warm, " shesaid. "It feels real--real. "

She went to it and knelt before it. She touched the chair, the table;she lifted the cover of one of the dishes. There was something hot andsavory in it--something delicious. The tea-pot had tea in it, ready forthe boiling water from the little kettle; one plate had toast on it, another, muffins. 

"It is real, " said Sara. "The fire is real enough to warm me; I can sitin the chair; the things are real enough to eat. "

It was like a fairy story come true--it was heavenly. She went to thebed and touched the blankets and the wrap. They were real too. Sheopened one book, and on the title-page was written in a strange hand, "The little girl in the attic. "

Suddenly--was it a strange thing for her to do?--Sara put her face downon the queer, foreign-looking quilted robe and burst into tears. 

"I don't know who it is, " she said, "but somebody cares about me alittle--somebody is my friend. "

Somehow that thought warmed her more than the fire. She had never had afriend since those happy, luxurious days when she had had everything;and those days had seemed such a long way off--so far away as to be onlylike dreams--during these last years at Miss Minchin's. 

She really cried more at this strange thought of having a friend--eventhough an unknown one--than she had cried over many of her worsttroubles. 

But these tears seemed different from the others, for when she had wipedthem away they did not seem to leave her eyes and her heart hot andsmarting. 

And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. Thedelicious comfort of taking off the damp clothes and putting on thesoft, warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire--of slipping her coldfeet into the luscious little wool-lined slippers she found near herchair. And then the hot tea and savory dishes, the cushioned chair andthe books!

It was just like Sara, that, once having found the things real, sheshould give herself up to the enjoyment of them to the very utmost. Shehad lived such a life of imagining, and had found her pleasure so longin improbabilities, that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderfulthing that happened. After she was quite warm and had eaten her supperand enjoyed herself for an hour or so, it had almost ceased to besurprising to her that such magical surroundings should be hers. As tofinding out who had done all this, she knew that it was out of thequestion. She did not know a human soul by whom it could seem in theleast degree probable that it could have been done. 

"There is nobody, " she said to herself, "nobody. " She discussed thematter with Emily, it is true, but more because it was delightful totalk about it than with a view to making any discoveries. 

"But we have a friend, Emily, " she said; "we have a friend. "

Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough to fill her grandideal of her mysterious benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind apicture of him or her, it ended by being something glittering andstrange--not at all like a real person, but bearing resemblance to asort of Eastern magician, with long robes and a wand. And when she fellasleep, beneath the soft white blanket, she dreamed all night of thismagnificent personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and made salaamsto him. 

Upon one thing she was determined. She would not speak to any one of hergood fortune--it should be her own secret; in fact, she was ratherinclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she would take hertreasures from her or in some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she wentdown the next morning, she shut her door very tight and did her best tolook as if nothing unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather hard, because she could not help remembering, every now and then, with a sortof start, and her heart would beat quickly every time she repeated toherself, "I have a friend!"

It was a friend who evidently meant to continue to be kind, for when shewent to her garret the next night--and she opened the door, it must beconfessed, with rather an excited feeling--she found that the same handshad been again at work, and had done even more than before. The fire andthe supper were again there, and beside them a number of other thingswhich so altered the look of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath. A piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the battered mantel, andon it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things whichcould be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to lookquite pretty. Some odd materials in rich colors had been fastenedagainst the walls with sharp, fine tacks--so sharp that they could bepressed into the wood without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinnedup, and there were several large cushions. A long, old wooden box wascovered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quitethe air of a sofa. 

Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked again. 

"It is exactly like something fairy come true, " she said; "there isn'tthe least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything--diamondsand bags of gold--and they would appear! _That_ couldn't be any strangerthan this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? Andto think how I used to pretend, and pretend, and wish there werefairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story cometrue. I am _living_ in a fairy story! I feel as if I might be a fairymyself, and be able to turn things into anything else!"

It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of all, it continued. Almost every day something new was done to the garret. Some new comfortor ornament appeared in it when Sara opened her door at night, untilactually, in a short time, it was a bright little room, full of allsorts of odd and luxurious things. And the magician had taken care thatthe child should not be hungry, and that she should have as many booksas she could read. When she left the room in the morning, the remains ofher supper were on the table, and when she returned in the evening, themagician had removed them, and left another nice little meal. DownstairsMiss Minchin was as cruel and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia was aspeevish, and the servants were as vulgar. Sara was sent on errands, andscolded, and driven hither and thither, but somehow it seemed as if shecould bear it all. The delightful sense of romance and mystery liftedher above the cook's temper and malice. The comfort she enjoyed andcould always look forward to was making her stronger. If she came homefrom her errands wet and tired, she knew she would soon be warm, aftershe had climbed the stairs. In a few weeks she began to look less thin. A little color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem much toobig for her face. 

It was just when this was beginning to be so apparent that Miss Minchinsometimes stared at her questioningly, that another wonderful thinghappened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All wereaddressed (in large letters) to "the little girl in the attic. " Saraherself was sent to open the door, and she took them in. She laid thetwo largest parcels down on the hall-table and was looking at theaddress, when Miss Minchin came down the stairs. 

"Take the things upstairs to the young lady to whom they belong, " shesaid. "Don't stand there staring at them. "

"They belong to me, " answered Sara, quietly. 

"To you!" exclaimed Miss Minchin. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know where they came from, " said Sara, "but they're addressedto me. "

Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at them with an excitedexpression. 

"What is in them?" she demanded. 

"I don't know, " said Sara. 

"Open them!" she demanded, still more excitedly. 

Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty and comfortableclothing, --clothing of different kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, a warm coat, and even an umbrella. On the pocket of the coat was pinneda paper on which was written, "To be worn every day--will be replaced byothers when 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 child so neglected and so unkindlytreated by her had some powerful friend in the background? It would notbe very pleasant if there should be such a friend, and he or she shouldlearn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, thehard work. She felt queer indeed and uncertain, and she gave aside-glance at Sara. 

"Well, " she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the daythe child lost her father--"well, some one is very kind to you. As youhave the things and are to have new ones when they are worn out, you mayas well go and put them on and look respectable; and after you aredressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in theschool-room. "

So it happened that, about half an hour afterward, Sara struck theentire school-room of pupils dumb with amazement, by making herappearance in a costume such as she had never worn since the change offortune whereby she ceased to be a show-pupil and a parlor-boarder. Shescarcely seemed to be the same Sara. She was neatly dressed in a prettygown of warm browns and reds, and even her stockings and slippers werenice and dainty. 

"Perhaps some one has left her a fortune, " one of the girls whispered. "I always thought something would happen to her, she is so queer. "

That night when Sara went to her room she carried out a plan she hadbeen devising for some time. She wrote a note to her unknown friend. Itran as follows:

 "I hope you will not think it is not polite that I should write this note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret, but I do not mean to be impolite, or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank you for being so kind to me--so beautiful kind, and making everything like a fairy story. I am so grateful to you and I am so happy! I used to be so lonely and cold and, hungry, and now, oh, just think what you have done for me! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I ought to say them. _Thank you--thank you--thank you!_

 "THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC. "

The next morning she left this on the little table, and it was takenaway with the other things; so she felt sure the magician had receivedit, and she was happier for the thought. 

A few nights later a very odd thing happened. She found something in theroom which she certainly would never have expected. When she came in asusual she saw something small and dark in her chair, --an odd, tinyfigure, which turned toward her a little, weird-looking, wistful face. 

"Why, it's the monkey!" she cried. "It is the Indian Gentleman's monkey!Where can he have come from?"

It _was_ the monkey, sitting up and looking so like a mite of a childthat it really was quite pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how hehappened to be in her room. The skylight was open, and it was easy toguess that he had crept out of his master's garret-window, which wasonly a few feet away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even for aclimber less agile than a monkey. He had probably climbed to the garreton a tour of investigation, and getting out upon the roof, and beingattracted by the light in Sara's attic, had crept in. At all events thisseemed quite reasonable, and there he was; and when Sara went to him, heactually put out his queer, elfish little hands, caught her dress, andjumped into her arms. 

"Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!" said Sara, caressinghim. "I can't help liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am soglad you are not, because your mother could _not_ be proud of you, andnobody would dare to say you were like any of your relations. But I dolike you; you have such a forlorn little look in your face. Perhaps youare sorry you are so ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if youhave a mind?"

The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, and seemed muchinterested in her remarks, if one could judge by his eyes and hisforehead, and the way he moved his head up and down, and held itsideways and scratched it with his little hand. He examined Sara quiteseriously, and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress, touchedher hands, climbed up and examined her ears, and then sat on hershoulder holding a lock of her hair, looking mournful but not at allagitated. Upon the whole, he seemed pleased with Sara. 

[Illustration: "THE MONKEY SEEMED MUCH INTERESTED IN HER REMARKS. "]

"But I must take you back, " she said to him, "though I'm sorry to haveto do it. Oh, the company you _would_ be to a person!"

She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on her knee, and gave him abit of cake. He sat and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side, looked at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then nibbled again, in themost companionable manner. 

"But you must go home, " said Sara at last; and she took him in her armsto carry him downstairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the room, for as they reached the door he clung to her neck and gave a littlescream of anger. 

"You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey, " said Sara. "You ought to befondest of your own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to you. "

Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon she was standing on theIndian Gentleman's front steps, and the Lascar had opened the door forher. 

"I found your monkey in my room, " she said in Hindustani. "I think hegot in through the window. "

The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; but, just as he was in themidst of them, a fretful, hollow voice was heard through the open doorof the nearest room. The instant he heard it the Lascar disappeared, andleft Sara still holding the monkey. 

It was not many moments, however, before he came back bringing amessage. His master had told him to bring Missy into the library. TheSahib was very ill, but he wished to see Missy. 

Sara thought this odd, but she remembered reading stories of Indiangentlemen who, having no constitutions, were extremely cross and full ofwhims, and who must have their own way. So she followed the Lascar. 

When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was lying on an easychair, propped up with pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellowface was thin, and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather curiouslook--it was as if she wakened in him some anxious interest. 

"You live next door?" he said. 

"Yes, " answered Sara. "I live at Miss Minchin's. "

"She keeps a boarding-school?"

"Yes, " said Sara. 

"And you are one of her pupils?"

Sara hesitated a moment. 

"I don't know exactly what I am, " she replied. 

"Why not?" asked the Indian Gentleman. 

The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara stroked him. 

"At first, " she said, "I was a pupil and a parlor boarder; but now----"

"What do you mean by 'at first'?" asked the Indian Gentleman. 

"When I was first taken there by my papa. "

"Well, what has happened since then?" said the invalid, staring at herand knitting his brows with a puzzled expression. 

"My papa died, " said Sara. "He lost all his money, and there was noneleft for me--and there was no one to take care of me or pay MissMinchin, so----"

"So you were sent up into the garret and neglected, and made into ahalf-starved little drudge!" put in the Indian Gentleman. "That is aboutit, isn't it?"

The color deepened on Sara's cheeks. 

"There was no one to take care of me, and no money, " she said. "I belongto nobody. "

"What did your father mean by losing his money?" said the gentleman, fretfully. 

The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she fixed her odd eyes on theyellow face. 

"He did not lose it himself, " she said. "He had a friend he was fond of, and it was his friend who took his money. I don't know how. I don'tunderstand. He trusted his friend too much. "

She saw the invalid start--the strangest start--as if he had beensuddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly:

"That's an old story, " he said. "It happens every day; but sometimesthose who are blamed--those who do the wrong--don't intend it, and arenot so bad. It may happen through a mistake--a miscalculation; they maynot be so bad. "

"No, " said Sara, "but the suffering is just as bad for the others. Itkilled my papa. "

The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps thatcovered him. 

"Come a little nearer, and let me look at you, " he said. 

His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tonethan before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look ather. She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watchinghis master anxiously over his shoulder. 

The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her. 

"Yes, " he said at last. "Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name. "

"His name was Ralph Crewe, " said Sara. "Captain Crewe. Perhaps, "--asudden thought flashing upon her, --"perhaps you may have heard of him?He died in India. "

The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. He looked very weak, and seemed out of breath. 

"Yes, " he said, "I knew him. I was his friend. I meant no harm. If hehad only lived he would have known. It turned out well after all. He wasa fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I will make it right. Call--call the man. "

Sara thought he was going to die. But there was no need to call theLascar. He must have been waiting at the door. He was in the room and byhis master's side in an instant. He seemed to know what to do. He liftedthe drooping head, and gave the invalid something in a small glass. TheIndian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes, and then he spoke in anexhausted but eager voice, addressing the Lascar in Hindustani:

"Go for Carmichael, " he said. "Tell him to come here at once. Tell him Ihave found the child!"

When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred in a very few minutes, forit turned out that he was no other than the father of the Large Familyacross the street), Sara went home, and was allowed to take the monkeywith her. She certainly did not sleep very much that night, though themonkey behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in the least. It wasnot the monkey that kept her awake--it was her thoughts, and her wondersas to what the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said, "Tell him I havefound the child. " "What child?" Sara kept asking herself. "I was theonly child there; but how had he found me, and why did he want to findme? And what is he going to do, now I am found? Is it something about mypapa? Do I belong to somebody? Is he one of my relations? Is somethinggoing to happen?"

But she found out the very next day, in the morning; and it seemed thatshe had been living in a story even more than she had imagined. First, Mr. Carmichael came and had an interview with Miss Minchin. And itappeared that Mr. Carmichael, besides occupying the important situationof father to the Large Family, was a lawyer, and had charge of theaffairs of Mr. Carrisford--which was the real name of the IndianGentleman--and, as Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. Carmichael had come toexplain something curious to Miss Minchin regarding Sara. But, being thefather of the Large Family, he had a very kind and fatherly feeling forchildren; and so, after seeing Miss Minchin alone, what did he do but goand bring across the square his rosy, motherly, warm-hearted wife, sothat she herself might talk to the little lonely girl, and tell hereverything in the best and most motherly way. 

And then Sara learned that she was to be a poor little drudge andoutcast no more, and that a great change had come in her fortunes; forall the lost fortune had come back to her, and a great deal had evenbeen added to it. It was Mr. Carrisford who had been her father'sfriend, and who had made the investments which had caused him theapparent loss of his money; but it had so happened that after poor youngCaptain Crewe's death one of the investments which had seemed at thetime the very worst had taken a sudden turn, and proved to be such asuccess that it had been a mine of wealth, and had more than doubled theCaptain's lost fortune, as well as making a fortune for Mr. Carrisfordhimself. But Mr. Carrisford had been very unhappy. He had truly lovedhis poor, handsome, generous young friend, and the knowledge that he hadcaused his death had weighed upon him always, and broken both his healthand spirit. The worst of it had been that, when first he thought himselfand Captain Crewe ruined, he had lost courage and gone away because hewas not brave enough to face the consequences of what he had done, andso he had not even known where the young soldier's little girl had beenplaced. When he wanted to find her, and make restitution, he coulddiscover no trace of her; and the certainty that she was poor andfriendless somewhere had made him more miserable than ever. When he hadtaken the house next to Miss Minchin's he had been so ill and wretchedthat he had for the time given up the search. His troubles and theIndian climate had brought him almost to death's door--indeed, he hadnot expected to live more than a few months. And then one day the Lascarhad told him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and gradually he hadbegun to take a sort of interest in the forlorn child, though he hadonly caught a glimpse of her once or twice and he had not connected herwith the child of his friend, perhaps because he was too languid tothink much about anything. But the Lascar had found out something ofSara's unhappy little life, and about the garret. One evening he hadactually crept out of his own garret-window and looked into hers, whichwas a very easy matter, because, as I have said, it was only a few feetaway--and he had told his master what he had seen, and in a moment ofcompassion the Indian Gentleman had told him to take into the wretchedlittle room such comforts as he could carry from the one window to theother. And the Lascar, who had developed an interest in, and an oddfondness for, the child who had spoken to him in his own tongue, hadbeen pleased with the work; and, having the silent swiftness and agilemovements of many of his race, he had made his evening journeys acrossthe few feet of roof from garret-window to garret-window, without anytrouble at all. He had watched Sara's movements until he knew exactlywhen she was absent from her room and when she returned to it, and so hehad been able to calculate the best times for his work. Generally he hadmade them in the dusk of the evening; but once or twice, when he hadseen her go out on errands, he had dared to go over in the daytime, being quite sure that the garret was never entered by any one butherself. His pleasure in the work and his reports of the results hadadded to the invalid's interest in it, and sometimes the master hadfound the planning gave him something to think of, which made him almostforget his weariness and pain. And at last, when Sara brought home thetruant monkey, he had felt a wish to see her, and then her likeness toher father had done the rest. 

"And now, my dear, " said good Mrs. Carmichael, patting Sara's hand, "allyour troubles are over, I am sure, and you are to come home with me andbe taken care of as if you were one of my own little girls; and we areso pleased to think of having you with us until everything is settled, and Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of last night has made himvery weak, but we really think he will get well, now that such a load istaken from his mind. And when he is stronger, I am sure he will be askind to you as your own papa would have been. He has a very good heart, and he is fond of children--and he has no family at all. But we mustmake you happy and rosy, and you must learn to play and run about, as mylittle girls do----"

"As your little girls do?" said Sara. "I wonder if I could. I used towatch them and wonder what it was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged tosomebody?"

"Ah, my love, yes!--yes!" said Mrs. Carmichael; "dear me, yes!" And hermotherly blue eyes grew quite moist, and she suddenly took Sara in herarms and kissed her. That very night, before she went to sleep, Sara hadmade the acquaintance of the entire Large Family, and such excitement asshe and the monkey had caused in that joyous circle could hardly bedescribed. There was not a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy whowas the eldest, to the baby who was the youngest, who had not laid someoffering on her shrine. All the older ones knew something of herwonderful story. She had been born in India; she had been poor andlonely and unhappy, and had lived in a garret and been treated unkindly;and now she was to be rich and happy, and be taken care of. They were sosorry for her, and so delighted and curious about her, all at once. Thegirls wished to be with her constantly, and the little boys wished to betold about India; the second baby, with the short round legs, simplysat and stared at her and the monkey, possibly wondering why she had notbrought a hand-organ with her. 

"I shall certainly wake up presently, " Sara kept saying to herself. "This one must be a dream. The other one turned out to be real; but this_couldn't_ be. But, oh! how happy it is!"

And even when she went to bed, in the bright, pretty room not far fromMrs. Carmichael's own, and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her andpatted her and tucked her in cozily, she was not sure that she would notwake up in the garret in the morning. 

"And oh, Charles, dear, " Mrs. Carmichael said to her husband, when shewent downstairs to him, "we must get that lonely look out of her eyes!It isn't a child's look at all. I couldn't bear to see it in one of myown children. What the poor little love must have had to bear in thatdreadful woman's house! But, surely, she will forget it in time. "

But though the lonely look passed away from Sara's face, she never quiteforgot the garret at Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked toremember the wonderful night when the tired princess crept upstairs, cold and wet, and opening the door found fairy-land waiting for her. Andthere was no one of the many stories she was always being called upon totell in the nursery of the Large Family which was more popular than thatparticular one; and there was no one of whom the Large Family were sofond as of Sara. Mr. Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and Sarawent to live with him; and no real princess could have been better takencare of than she was. It seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not doenough to make her happy, and to repay her for the past; and the Lascarwas her devoted slave. As her odd little face grew brighter, it grew sopretty and interesting that Mr. Carrisford used to sit and watch it manyan evening, as they sat by the fire together. 

They became great friends, and they used to spend hours reading andtalking together; and, in a very short time, there was no pleasantersight to the Indian Gentleman than Sara sitting in her big chair on theopposite side of the hearth, with a book on her knee and her soft, darkhair tumbling over her warm cheeks. She had a pretty habit of looking upat him suddenly, with a bright smile, and then he would often say toher:

"Are you happy, Sara?"

And then she would answer:

"I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom. "

He had told her to call him Uncle Tom. 

"There doesn't seem to be anything left to 'suppose, '" she added. 

There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and socould do anything he liked; and it was one of his pleasures to inventplans to surprise her with enjoyments she had not thought of. Scarcely aday passed in which he did not do something new for her. Sometimes shefound new flowers in her room; sometimes a fanciful little gift tuckedinto some odd corner; sometimes a new book on her pillow;--once as theysat together in the evening they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on thedoor of the room, and when Sara went to find out what it was, therestood a great dog--a splendid Russian boar-hound with a grand silver andgold collar. Stooping to read the inscription upon the collar, Sara wasdelighted to read the words: "I am Boris; I serve the Princess Sara. "

Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged for the entertainment ofthe juvenile members of the Large Family, who were always coming to seeSara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was as fond of the Large Familyas they were of her. She soon felt as if she were a member of it, andthe companionship of the healthy, happy children was very good for her. All the children rather looked up to her and regarded her as thecleverest and most brilliant of creatures--particularly after it wasdiscovered that she not only knew stories of every kind, and couldinvent new ones at a moment's notice, but that she could help withlessons, and speak French and German, and discourse with the Lascar inHindustani. 

It was rather a painful experience for Miss Minchin to watch herex-pupil's fortunes, as she had the daily opportunity to do, and to feelthat she had made a serious mistake, from a business point of view. Shehad even tried to retrieve it by suggesting that Sara's education shouldbe continued under her care, and had gone to the length of making anappeal to the child herself. 

"I have always been very fond of you, " she said. 

Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her one of her odd looks. 

"Have you?" she answered. 

"Yes, " said Miss Minchin. "Amelia and I have always said you were thecleverest child we had with us, and I am sure we could make youhappy--as a parlor boarder. "

Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears were boxed, --and of thatother day, that dreadful, desolate day when she had been told that shebelonged to nobody; that she had no home and no friends, --and she kepther eyes fixed on Miss Minchin's face. 

"You know why I would not stay with you, " she said. 

And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did, for after that simpleanswer she had not the boldness to pursue the subject. She merely sentin a bill for the expense of Sara's education and support, and she madeit quite large enough. And because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara wouldwish it paid, it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid it he had a briefinterview with Miss Minchin in which he expressed his opinion with muchclearness and force; and it is quite certain that Miss Minchin did notenjoy the conversation. 

Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carrisford, and had begun torealize that her happiness was not a dream, when one night the IndianGentleman saw that she sat a long time with her cheek on her handlooking at the fire. 

"What are you 'supposing, ' Sara?" he asked. Sara looked up with a brightcolor on her cheeks. 

"I _was_ 'supposing, '" she said; "I was remembering that hungry day, anda child I saw. "

"But there were a great many hungry days, " said the Indian Gentleman, with a rather sad tone in his voice. "Which hungry day was it?"

"I forgot you didn't know, " said Sara. "It was the day I found thethings in my garret. "

And then she told him the story of the bun-shop, and the fourpence, andthe child who was hungrier than herself; and somehow as she told it, though she told it very simply indeed, the Indian Gentleman found itnecessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the floor. 

"And I was 'supposing' a kind of plan, " said Sara, when she hadfinished; "I was thinking I would like to do something. "

"What is it?" said her guardian in a low tone. "You may do anything youlike to do, Princess. "

"I was wondering, " said Sara, --"you know you say I have a great deal ofmoney--and I was wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman and tellher that if, when hungry children--particularly on those dreadfuldays--come and sit on the steps or look in at the window, she would justcall them in and give them something to eat, she might send the bills tome and I would pay them--could I do that?"

"You shall do it to-morrow morning, " said the Indian Gentleman. 

"Thank you, " said Sara; "you see I know what it is to be hungry, and itis very hard when one can't even _pretend_ it away. "

"Yes, yes, my dear, " said the Indian Gentleman. "Yes, it must be. Try toforget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and onlyremember you are a princess. "

"Yes, " said Sara, "and I can give buns and bread to the Populace. " Andshe went and sat on the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he used to likeher to call him that, too, sometimes, --in fact very often) drew hersmall, dark head down upon his knee and stroked her hair. 

[Illustration: "HE DREW HER SMALL DARK HEAD DOWN UPON HIS KNEE ANDSTROKED HER HAIR. "]

The next morning a carriage drew up before the door of the baker's shop, and a gentleman and a little girl got out, --oddly enough, just as thebun-woman was putting a tray of smoking hot buns into the window. WhenSara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her and, leavingthe buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked atSara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up. 

"I'm that sure I remember you, miss, " she said. "And yet----"

"Yes, " said Sara, "once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and----"

"And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child, " said the woman. "I'vealways remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. I beg pardon, sir, but there's not many young people that notices a hungry face inthat way, and I've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss, but you look rosier and better than you did that day. "

"I am better, thank you, " said Sara, "and--and I am happier, and I havecome to ask you to do something for me. "

"Me, miss!" exclaimed the woman, "why, bless you, yes, miss! What can Ido?"

And then Sara made her little proposal, and the woman listened to itwith an astonished face. 

"Why, bless me!" she said, when she had heard it all. "Yes, miss, it'llbe a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working woman, myself, and can'tafford to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble onevery side; but if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many abit of bread away since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinkin' ofyou. An' how wet an' cold you was, an' how you looked, --an' yet you giveaway your hot buns as if you was a princess. "

The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, and Sara smiled a little too. "She looked so hungry, " she said. "She was hungrier than I was. "

"She was starving, " said the woman. "Many's the time she's told me of itsince--how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearingat her poor young insides. "

"Oh, have you seen her since then?" exclaimed Sara. "Do you know whereshe is?"

"I know!" said the woman. "Why, she's in that there back room now, miss, an' has been for a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she's going toturn out, an' such a help to me in the day shop, an' in the kitchen, asyou'd scarce believe, knowing 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. And 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 here when she was hungry, and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she waswilling, an' somehow I got to like her; an' the end of it was I've givenher a place an' a home, an' she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is asthankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne--she has no other. "

The two children stood and looked at each other a few moments. In Sara'seyes a new thought was growing. 

"I'm glad you have such a good home, " she said. "Perhaps Mrs. Brown willlet you give the buns and bread to the children--perhaps you would liketo do it--because you know what it is to be hungry, too. "

"Yes, miss, " said the girl. 

And somehow Sara felt as if she understood her, though the girl saidnothing more, and only stood still and looked, and looked after her asshe went out of the shop and got into the carriage and drove away. 

 THE END. 

 _BY THE SAME AUTHOR. _

 LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY. 

 SQUARE 8vo, $2. 00. 

[Illustration]

"_In 'Little Lord Fauntleroy' we gain another charming child to add toour gallery of juvenile heroes and heroines; one who teaches a greatlesson with such truth and sweetness, that we part with him with realregret when the episode is over. _"--LOUISA M. ALCOTT. 

 * * *

 SARA CREWE. 

 SQUARE 8vo, $1. 00. 

[Illustration]

"_Everybody was in love with 'Little Lord Fauntleroy, ' and I think allthe world and the rest of mankind will be in love with 'Sara Crewe. ' Thetale is so tender, so wise, so human, that I wish every girl in Americacould read it, for I think every one would be made better by it. _"--LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 

 * * *

 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH, AND OTHER STORIES. 

 SQUARE 8vo, $1. 50. 

"_The pretty tale has for its heroine a little French girl brought up inan old château in Normandy by an aunt who is a recluse and dévote. Achild of this type transplanted suddenly to the realistic atmosphere ofNew York must inevitably have much to suffer. The quaint little figureblindly trying to guess the riddle of duty under these unfamiliarconditions is pathetic, and Mrs. Burnett touches it in with delicatestrokes. _"--SUSAN COOLIDGE. 

_Illustrated by REGINALD B. BIRCH. _

 _SCRIBNER'S BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. _

 MRS. BURNETT'S THREE FAMOUS JUVENILES. 

 =Uniform in style and Illustrated by R. B. Birch. =

 _A NEW BOOK FOR THE CHRISTMAS SEASON. _

 LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH AND OTHER STORIES. 

 BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. 

 [Illustration]

 =With 12 new full-page Drawings by Reginald B. Birch. =

 _One volume, square 8vo, $1. 50. _

_FROM SUSAN COOLIDGE:_

"The pretty tale from which the book borrows its name has for itsheroine a little French girl brought up in an old château in Normandy, by an aunt who is a recluse and _dévote_. A child of this type, transplanted suddenly while still in childhood to the realisticatmosphere of prosperous New York, must inevitably have much to suffer. She is puzzled; she is lonely; she has no one to direct her conscience. The quaint little figure, blindly trying to guess the riddle of dutyunder these unfamiliar conditions, is pathetic, and Mrs. Burnett touchesit in with delicate strokes. The stories are prettily illustrated byBirch. "

 * * * * *

 LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY. 

 [Illustration]

 =Beautifully Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch. =

 _One volume, square 8vo, $2. 00. _

 _FROM LOUISA M. ALCOTT:_

"In 'Little Lord Fauntleroy' we gain another charming child to add toour gallery of juvenile heroes and heroines; one who teaches a greatlesson with such truth and sweetness that we part with him with realregret when the episode is over. "

 * * * * *

 SARA CREWE;

 _OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S. _

 [Illustration]

 =Richly and Fully Illustrated by R. B. Birch. =

 _One volume, square 8vo, $1. 00. _

 _FROM LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON:_

"Everybody was in love with 'Little Lord Fauntleroy, ' and I think allthe world and the rest of mankind will be in love with 'Sara Crewe. ' Iwish every girl in America could read it. "

 * * * * *

 TWO BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 

Mr. Beard has added sixty new drawings to his "American Boy's HandyBook, " to illustrate the new games, sports, and mechanical contrivanceswhich he has incorporated in this latest edition. The Misses Beard'scompanion volume, "The American Girl's Handy Book, " is reduced in price, all the features being retained. Both are profusely illustrated withhundreds of pictures and designs, and in their new dress will be primefavorites with holiday buyers. 

 * * *

 THE AMERICAN BOY'S HANDY BOOK;

 _OR, WHAT TO DO AND HOW TO DO IT_. 

 BY DANIEL C. BEARD. 

 =With over 360 Illustrations by the Author. =

 _One volume, square 8vo, $2. 00_

[Illustration]

"The book has this great advantage over its predecessors, that most ofthe games, tricks, and other amusements described in it are new. Ittreats of sports adapted to all seasons of the year; it is practical, and it is well illustrated. "--_The New York Tribune. _

"It tells boys how to make all kinds of things--boats, traps, toys, puzzles, aquariums, fishing tackle; how to tie knots, splice ropes, tomake bird-calls, sleds, blow-guns, balloons; how to rear wild birds, totrain dogs, and do the thousand and one things that boys take delightin. The book is illustrated in such a way that no mistake can be made. "--_The Indianapolis Journal. _

 * * *

 THE AMERICAN GIRL'S HANDY BOOK;

 _OR, HOW TO AMUSE YOURSELF AND OTHERS_. 

 BY LENA AND ADELIA B. BEARD. 

 =With over 500 Illustrations by the Authors. =

 _One volume, square 8vo, $2. 00_

[Illustration]

_LOUISA M. ALCOTT WROTE:_

"I have put it in my list of good and useful books for young people, asI have many requests for advice from my little friends and their anxiousmothers. I am most happy to commend your very ingenious and entertainingbook. "

_GRACE GREENWOOD WROTE:_

"It is a treasure which, once possessed, no practical girl wouldwillingly part with. It is an invaluable aid in making a homeattractive, comfortable, artistic and refined. The book preaches thegospel of cheerfulness, industry, economy and comfort. "

 * * * * *

 "_Most delightful. _"--NEW YORK TIMES. 

 TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES. 

 BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. 

 =With Eight full-page Illustrations by E. W. Kemble and A. C. Redwood. =

 _One volume, square 8vo, $1. 50. _

"_There is both humor and pathos in the book, and its literary qualitiesare as high as any book for young folks printed since 'Little LordFauntleroy. '_"--CHRISTIAN UNION. 

[Illustration]

"The story is crisp, fresh and pleasing, and handsomely printed andaptly illustrated by Kemble and Redwood. "--_Chicago Inter-Ocean. _

"A true picture of Virginia life at home during the mighty conflict fullof the pathos and humor of those days. "--_Charleston News and Courier. _

"The story is beautifully told, fun and pathos being equally mingled inits ingenious threads. The book is a handsome octavo and is fullyillustrated. "--_Newark Advertiser. _

"It tells the story of two Virginia lads left at home on a plantationwhile the men went to fight. The youngsters have many adventures, serious and humorous, and get into trouble and out of it again. Thestory abounds in stirring incidents, and gives a very picturesque viewof home life in Virginia during the rebellion. It is _an admirablejuvenile book_, teaching an excellent moral of self-reliance. "--_The Boston Saturday Gazette. _

 * * * * *

 LITTLE PEOPLE:

 _And Their Homes in Meadows, Woods and Waters_. 

 BY STELLA LOUISE HOOK. 

 =Beautifully Illustrated by Dan Beard and Harry Beard. =

 _One volume, square 8vo, $1. 50. _

[Illustration]

"_A beautifully illustrated volume for young people, in which thehabits, humors, and eccentricities of insects are delightfullydescribed. The secrets and charms of insect-land are laid open by hervivacious pen, and the astonishing insects are described in a mannerthat makes them personal acquaintances. _"--CAMBRIDGE TRIBUNE. 

"These stories of real fairies are charmingly written and beautifullyillustrated. "--_Boston Post. _

"The author traces the life of the different insects that are familiarto all. A fascinating narrative. "--_Christian Inquirer. _

"A splendid holiday book. "--_Christian at Work. _

"The narrative is not only instructive but is made pleasant reading. "--_Boston Journal. _

"The author has a true eye, a quick imagination, and a fascinatingpen. "--_The Independent. _

 * * * * *

 CHILDREN'S STORIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURE

 _TALIESIN TO SHAKESPEARE. _

 BY HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT. 

 _One Volume, 12mo, $1. 25_

[Illustration]

Miss Wright's aim in this new volume has been to bring to the attentionof young readers a summary, set forth in simple, attractive language, ofthe lives and works of the great men of English Literature. Especialstress is laid upon popular literature, the old British and Saxon Songs, the romantic episodes of King Arthur's reign in its relation tolearning, Robin Hood, etc. The book is written in a charmingly winningstyle, and is both entertaining and valuable as a first book of Englishliterature. 

 CONTENTS. --OLD BRITISH SONGS; OLD SAXON SONGS; CÆDMON; THE VENERABLE BEDE; KING ALFRED; THE ROMANCE OF KING ARTHUR; ROBIN HOOD; THE HERO OF THE PEOPLE; LANGLANDE AND GOWER; SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE; GEOFFREY CHAUCER; WICKLIFFE; CAXTON; THE FAËRY QUEEN; SIR PHILIP SIDNEY; THE RISE OF THE DRAMA. 

 * * * * *

 _BY THE SAME AUTHOR. _

 CHILDREN'S STORIES

 OF THE GREAT SCIENTISTS. 

 _With numerous Portraits. 12mo, $1. 25_

"The author has succeeded in making her pen pictures of the greatscientists as graphic as the excellent portraits that illustrate thework. Around each name she has picturesquely grouped the essentialfeatures of scientific achievement. "--_Brooklyn Times. _

 * * *

 OF AMERICAN PROGRESS. 

 _Illustrated. 12mo, $1. 25_

"Miss Wright is favorably known by her volume of well-told 'Stories inAmerican History, ' and her 'Stories of American Progress' is equallyworthy of commendation. Taken together they present a series of picturesof great graphic interest. The illustrations are excellent. "--_The Nation. _

[Illustration]

 * * *

 IN AMERICAN HISTORY. 

 _Illustrated. 12mo, $1. 25_

"A most delightful and instructive collection of historical events, toldin a simple and pleasant manner. Almost every occurrence in the gradualdevelopment of our country is woven into an attractive story for youngpeople. "--_San Francisco Evening Post. _

 * * * * *

 PERSONALLY CONDUCTED. 

 BY FRANK R. STOCKTON, With Forty-Six Illustrations by Joseph Pennell, Alfred Parsons and others. 

 _One volume, square 8vo, =$2. 00=_

[Illustration]

A fascinating volume of travel by the famous story-teller, whose routeis outlined with characteristic quaintness in the table of contentsgiven below. The chapters are a series of pleasant, informal talks withan imaginary party of young people to whom the author is showing thecurious and interesting sights of the old world;--a fancy that Mr. Stockton works out with his customary ingenuity and cleverness. 

The two-score and more of illustrations by Joseph Pennell, AlfredParsons, and others, enriching the pages with many beautiful old-worldviews, give the book a high artistic quality and make it a volumeadmirably suited for a holiday gift. 

 CONTENTS. --THE ROMANS, BUT NOT ROME; THE CITY OF THE BENDED KNEE; LITTLE PISA AND GREAT ROME; GREAT ROME AGAIN; AROUND THE BAY OF NAPLES; IN FLORENCE AND VENICE; A MOUNTAIN TOP, AND HOW WE GET THERE; QUEEN PARIS; KING LONDON; IN ENGLISH COUNTRY; THE LOW COUNTRIES AND THE RHINE; THE PEOPLE WE MEET. 

 * * * * *

 STOCKTON'S OTHER BOOKS. 

 =THE STORY OF VITEAU. =

 _With 16 Full-Page Illustrations by R. B. BIRCH. _

 _12mo, extra Cloth, $1. 50_

"It is as romantic and absorbing as any boy could wish for, full ofadventure and daring, and yet told in excellent spirit and with a trueliterary instinct. "--_Christian Union. _

 =A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. =

 _With Twenty Illustrations. 12mo, $1. 50_

"We can think of no book published the present season which will moredelight the wide-awake, adventure-loving boy. It is, to borrow theadjective from the title, just 'jolly. '"--_Boston Transcript. _

 =The Floating Prince and Other Fairy Tales. =

 _With Illustrations. Square 8vo, $1. 50_

"These tales are full of the quaintest conceits and the oddest fancies, and the strange adventures in which the different characters engage arejust the kind to excite the intense interest of children. "--_Phila. Bulletin. _

 =THE TING-A-LING TALES. =

 _With numerous Illustrations. 12mo, $1. 00_

"It would be difficult to find anything more dainty, fanciful andhumorous than these tales of magic, fairies, dwarfs and Giants. There isa vein of satire in them too which adult readers will enjoy. "--_N. Y. Herald. _

 =Roundabout Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fiction. =

 _With 200 Illustrations. Square 8vo, $1. 50_

 =TALES OUT OF SCHOOL. =

 _With nearly 200 Illustrations. Square 8vo, $1. 50_

"The volumes are profusely illustrated and contain the most entertainingsketches in Mr. Stockton's _most entertaining_ manner. "--_Christian Union. _

 * * * * *

 THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAGO;

 _OR, A PHOENICIAN EXPEDITION, B. C. 1000. _

 BY LÉON CAHUN. 

 _With 73 Illustrations. New Edition. One Volume, 8vo, $1. 50_

[Illustration]

Here we have one of those audacious stories which Frenchmen alone seemto have enough originality to invent. Captain Mago is sent by Hiram Kingof Tyre, on a voyage to Tarshish (Spain) to procure a supply of silverand other treasure with which to embellish the temple of David, King ofthe Jews, which was to be erected at Jerusalem. During his absence ofseveral years, he met with innumerable strange and perilous adventuresby land and sea. In itself the narrative of his exploits is of thrillinginterest, but the real value of the book consists in the graphic andaccurate picture which it gives of the world as it was a thousand yearsbefore the Christian Era. King David, King Solomon, the Queen of Sheba, and even Homer are among the characters Captain Mago meets in hisjourneys and adventures. 

 * * * * *

 =A TALE OF THE INDIAN MUTINY;=

 _OR, THE SERPENT-CHARMER. _

 BY LOUIS ROUSSELET. 

 _New Edition, Fully Illustrated. One Volume, 12mo, $1. 50_

A book of exciting adventures, the scene being laid in India during theMutiny of 1857, and the story describing the fortunes of a Franco-Indianfamily. 

"The book, the plot of which appears to be founded on fact, is rather aboy's book than a novel, and is filled with an uninterrupted series ofwild adventures, told in an agreeable and interesting way. "--_The Nation. _

"Besides the interest in the romance, much information is conveyedconcerning Indian manners and customs, as well as delightfuldescriptions of the wild country and the animals that abound there. "--_Providence Journal. _

 * * * * *

 =WILD MEN AND WILD BEASTS;=

 _OR, SCENES IN CAMP AND JUNGLE. _

 BY LIEUT. -COL. GORDON CUMMING. 

 _New Edition, Illustrated. One Volume, 12mo, $1. 50_

[Illustration]

The author of this book is famous for his hunting exploits in Africa andin Asia. His narrative has an autobiographical basis and contains someof the most marvelous stories of adventure ever published. Col. Gordon'saccounts of his various expeditions are records of bravery and enduranceseldom paralleled; and the tales of bloodshed are alleviated by pleasantanecdote--the humors of the camp and chase. 

 * * * * *

 THE BOY'S LIBRARY OF PLUCK AND ACTION. 

 =Four volumes, 12mo, in a box, illustrated, $5. 00

 Sold separately, price per volume, 1. 50=

 [Illustration]

 A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. 

 BY FRANK R. STOCKTON. 

 HANS BRINKER;

 =OR, THE SILVER SKATES. =

 A Story of Life in Holland. 

 BY MRS. MARY MAPES DODGE. 

 THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 

 BY NOAH BROOKS. 

 PHAETON ROGERS. 

 BY ROSSITER JOHNSON. 

In the "_Boy's Library of Pluck and Action_, " the design was to bringtogether the representative and most popular books of four of the bestknown writers for young people. The volumes are beautifully illustratedand uniformly bound in a most attractive form. 

 * * * * *

 ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF TRAVEL. 

 BY BAYARD TAYLOR. 

 =Per set, six volumes, 12mo, $6. 00. Each with many illustrations. 

 Sold separately, per volume, $1. 25. =

[Illustration]

JAPAN IN OUR DAY. TRAVELS IN ARABIA. TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. CENTRAL ASIA. THE LAKE REGION OF CENTRAL AFRICA. SIAM, THE LAND OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT. 

Each volume is complete in itself, and contains, first, a briefpreliminary sketch of the country to which it is devoted; next, such anoutline of previous explorations as may be necessary to explain what hasbeen achieved by later ones; and finally, a condensation of one or moreof the most important narratives of recent travel, accompanied withillustrations of the scenery, architecture, and life of the races, drawnonly from the most authentic sources. 

"Authenticated accounts of countries, peoples, modes of living andbeing, curiosities in natural history, and personal adventure in travelsand explorations, suggest a rich fund of solid instruction combined withdelightful entertainment. The editorship by one of the most observantand well-travelled men of modern times, at once secures the highcharacter of the 'Library' in every particular. "--_The Sunday School Times. _

 * * * * *

 HANS BRINKER; OR, THE SILVER SKATES. 

 A STORY OF LIFE IN HOLLAND. 

 By MARY MAPES DODGE. 

 =One volume, 12mo, with sixty beautiful illustrations, $1. 50. =

[Illustration]

"For children, what could be better as a gift than a copy of Mrs. Dodge's 'Hans Brinker; or, the Silver Skates'? This is one of the mostcharming of juvenile stories, dealing with fresh scenes and a strangelife, and told with sweet simplicity and great beauty. "--_The Congregationalist. _

 * * * * *

 RHYMES AND JINGLES. 

 By Mrs. MARY MAPES DODGE. 

 EDITOR OF "ST. NICHOLAS. "

 _Profusely illustrated. _

 =One vol. , 12mo. New edition, $1. 50=

Mrs. Dodge's "Rhymes and Jingles" is a collection of her child'spoems--a department of literature in which she has no equal. Some ofthese poems have been pronounced "without rivals in our language. "

 * * * * *

 PRINCE PEERLESS. 

 A FAIRY FOLK STORY BOOK. 

 By MARGARET COLLIER. 

 (Madame Gelletti Di Cadilhac). 

 ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN COLLIER. 

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 25=

"More admirable and fascinating a fairy story book we have not latelyset eyes upon. The stories are most airily conceived and most gracefullyexecuted. "--_The Hartford Post. _

 * * * * *

 PHAETON ROGERS. 

 A NOVEL OF BOY LIFE. 

 By ROSSITER JOHNSON. 

 _Illustrated. _

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 50=

"One of the funniest, liveliest juvenile stories of the year is 'PhaetonRogers, ' by Rossiter Johnson. The writer shows as much ingenuity ininventing comical adventures and situations as Phaeton does with hiskite-teams, fire ladders, and comets. "--_The Holyoke Transcript. _

 * * * * *

 THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 

 By NOAH BROOKS. 

 _Illustrated. _

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 50=

"It is one of the best boy's stories we have ever read. There is nothingmorbid or unhealthy about it. His heroes are thorough boys, with all thefaults of their age. "--_The Christian at Work. _

 * * * * *

 THE FAIRPORT NINE. 

 By NOAH BROOKS. 

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 25=

"As a thoroughly wholesome and delightful book for boys, 'The FairportNine' is not likely to have its superior this season. "--_The N. Y. Evening Mail. _

 * * * * *

 ABOUT OLD STORY TELLERS. 

 OF HOW AND WHEN THEY LIVED, AND WHAT STORIES THEY TOLD. 

 By DONALD G. MITCHELL. 

 _With numerous illustrations. _

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 25=

"'About Old Story Tellers' is made up of the best of the old stories, gathered from all sources, re-told in Mr. Mitchell's inimitable manner, and interwoven with lively sketches of the original writers and thetimes in which they flourished. "--_The New Haven Journal and Courier. _

 * * * * *

 HEROES OF THE OLDEN TIME. 

 By JAMES BALDWIN. 

 _Three vols. , 12mo, each beautifully illustrated, Singly, $1. 50; The Set, $4. 00. _

In these three volumes, Mr. Baldwin presents in consecutive narrativeforms the Legends relating to the Trojan War, the great Siegfried mythof Northern Europe, and the mediæval romance of Roland and Charlemange;bringing before the reader, with great spirit, with scholarly accuracyand with unfailing taste these heroic figures and the times in whichtheir adventures are supposed to have occurred. 

 * * * * *

 =A STORY OF THE GOLDEN AGE. =

 With a series of superb Full-page Illustrations by HOWARD PYLE. 

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 50. =

"Mr. Baldwin's book is redolent with the spirit of the Odyssey, thatglorious primitive epic, fresh with the dew of the morning of time. Itis an unalloyed pleasure to read his recital of the adventures of thewily Odysseus, slightly expurgated though it be, and adapted for theintelligence of youthful minds. Howard Pyle's illustrations render thespirit of the Homeric age with admirable felicity. "--_Prof. H. H. Boyesen. _

"Mr. Baldwin's work here as in 'Siegfried' and 'Roland' is ofexceptional merit, and is to be classed with the 'Tanglewood Tales' ofHawthorne rather than with the average story for the young. Mr. Pyle hasfurnished the volume with a dozen drawings of great artistic excellenceand of genuinely illustrative character. "--_The Providence Journal. _

 * * * * *

 =THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED. =

 With a series of Full-page Illustrations by HOWARD PYLE. 

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 50. =

"It is told with spirit and is beautifully illustrated. "--_The New York Sun. _

"'The Story of Siegfried' is charmingly told. The author makes up thestory from the various myths in a fascinating way which cannot fail tointerest the reader. It is as enjoyable as any fairy tale. The writer'sstyle is simple and very attractive, and the book is in every way anexcellent one for young readers. "--_The Hartford Courant. _

 * * * * *

 =THE STORY OF ROLAND. =

 With a Series of Full-page Illustrations by R. B. BIRCH. 

 =One volume, 12mo, $1. 50. =

[Illustration]

"Finely written, beautifully bound and excellently illustrated, it is acharming gift-book for either a boy or a girl. "--_The Critic. _

"The old romance is thus told in English for the first time in aconnected form, and is admirably told in the true spirit of chivalry. "--_The Boston Traveler. _

"Mr. Baldwin has culled from a wide range of epics, French, Italian andGerman, and has once more proved his aptitude as a story teller for theyoung, while conveying information for which many of their elders willbe thankful. "--_The Nation. _

 * * * * *

 THE BLACK ARROW. 

 _A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES_. 

 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 

 =With 12 full-page Illustrations by Will H. Low and Alfred Brennan. =

 _One volume, 12mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1. 00. _

"We have devoured the book at a sitting; and were the question to arisewhich of the author's two books, 'Treasure Island' or 'The Black Arrow, 'should be preserved, if only one of them could escape destruction, weshould hesitate not a moment to cry out for 'The Black Arrow. ' It hasall the charm of the other book and something more. "--_The Critic. _

"The Black Arrows are a kind of Robin Hoods, who forgather in thegreenwood, kill the King's venison, waylay the King's subjects, andexercise a simple and primitive injustice by killing everybody in anyway connected with the objects of their special animosity. Mr. Stevensonhas made a striking series of dramatic pictures. The action is vigorousand incessant. The lawless condition of the time is kept in evidence. Everybody is fighting or flying, plotting or baffling plots, doing orhindering overt wrong. The tale sweeps on to its close with plenty ofelan. "--_The New York Tribune. _

 * * * * *

 KIDNAPPED. 

 _Being Memoirs of the Adventures of David Balfour in the Year 1751. _

 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 

 _One volume, 12mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1. 00. _

 =With 16 full-page Illustrations, $1. 25. =

"Mr. Stevenson has never appeared to greater advantage than in'Kidnapped. '"--_The Nation. _

"He brings back old chivalries and piracies, and talks to the boyhood ofto-day of shipwrecks and highwaymen, as if these venerable objects ofworship had not been superseded long ago by mercantile heroes anddollar-coining newsboys. "--_The Atlantic Monthly. _

 * * * * *

 A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES. 

 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 

 _One volume, 12mo, gilt top, $1. 00. _

"These verses are simply exquisite. They are the child's thought in thechild's language, and yet altogether, poetical. We do not know anythingin the whole range of English literature to equal them in their ownpeculiar charm. There is a subtle beauty in them which is indescribableand unequalled. "--_The Churchman. _

 * * * * *

 POETRY FOR CHILDREN. 

 BY MARY AND CHARLES LAMB. 

 With Prince Dorus and Some Uncollected Poems by CHARLES LAMB. Edited by R. H. SHEPHERD. 16mo, $1. 00. 

"The book will be very welcome to thousands of admirers and lovers ofCharles Lamb. The verses are certainly far superior to most of the poemswritten for the young. "--_Springfield Republican. _

 * * * * *

 SERMONS FOR CHILDREN. 

 Preached in Westminster Abbey. By ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, late Dean of Westminster. 12mo, $1. 00. 

"They are simple, beautiful, and forcible in the presentation ofpractical religious truth, and no intelligent child can begin theperusal of one of them without finishing it and deriving wholesome andlasting impressions from it. "--_The Interior. _

 * * * * *

 MARVELS OF ANIMAL LIFE SERIES. 

 By CHARLES F. HOLDER. 

 _Three vols. , 8vo, each profusely illustrated, Singly, $1. 75; The Set, $5. 00. _

[Illustration]

The marvellously strange forms of animal life that exist or have existedin the earth, air or sea, supply Mr. Holder with a theme of entrancinginterest for every boy. The style is popular; there is a mass ofaccurate information, much of which is based upon the personalobservation of the author and the illustrations are numerous and ofsubstantial help to the reader. 

 * * *

 LIVING LIGHTS. 

 A POPULAR ACCOUNT OF PHOSPHORESCENT ANIMALS AND VEGETABLES. 

 =With 27 Full-page Illustrations, $1. 75. =

"We have read more books of the class of the one before us than we canremember, but none that has attracted us so much as this thick littlequarto. There is a world of entertainment in Mr. Holder's book. "--_R. H. Stoddard. _

"A very curious branch of natural history is expounded in most agreeablestyle by this delightful book. Mr. Holder furnishes a great mass ofinformation concerning fire-flies, luminous beetles and other insects, the phosphorescent animals and animalculæ of the sea, and even of plantsand flowers that give light. He has revealed a world of new wonders tothose who are inquisitive about certain mysteries of great interest, concerning which no other naturalist has written. "--_The Philadelphia Bulletin. _

 * * *

 MARVELS OF ANIMAL LIFE. 

 =With 24 Full-page Illustrations, --$1. 75. =

"Mr. Holder combines his descriptions of these odd creatures withstories of his own adventures in pursuit of them in many parts of theworld. These are told with much spirit and humor, and add greatly to thefascination of the book. "--_The Worcester Spy. _

 * * *

 THE IVORY KING. 

 A POPULAR HISTORY OF THE ELEPHANT AND ITS ALLIES. 

 =With 24 Full-page Illustrations, --$1. 75. =

"The author also talks in a lively and pleasant way about whiteelephants, rogue elephants, baby elephants, trick elephants, of theelephant in war, pageantry, sports and games. A charming accession tobooks for young people. "--_The Chicago Interior. _

[Illustration]

 * * * * *

 THE BOY'S LIBRARY OF LEGEND & CHIVALRY

 EDITED BY SIDNEY LANIER, _And Richly Illustrated by Fredericks, Bensell, and Kappes. _

 =Four volumes, cloth, uniform binding, price, per set, $7. 00. =

 =Sold separately, price, per volume, $2. 00. =

[Illustration]

Mr. Lanier's books, in which he presents to boy readers the old Englishclassics of history and legend in such attractive form, are now issuedin four uniform volumes, well made and well illustrated. While they arestories of action and stirring incident, which make them extremelyexciting, they teach those lessons which manly, honest boys ought tolearn. The oath of the young fourteenth century knight made him vow tospeak the truth, to perform a promise to the utmost, to reverence allwomen to maintain right and honesty, to help the weak, to treat high andlow with courtesy, to be fair to a bitter foe, and to pursue simplicity, modesty and gentleness of heart and bearing; and the nineteenth centuryknight is he who takes the same oath of fidelity to truth, honesty andpurity of heart. The illustrations are full of fire and spirit, and addvery much to one's enjoyment of the book. 

 THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR. 

 BEING SIR THOMAS MALLORY'S HISTORY OF KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE. 

 THE BOY'S FROISSART. 

 BEING SIR JOHN FROISSART'S CHRONICLES OF ADVENTURE, BATTLE, AND CUSTOM IN ENGLAND, FRANCE, SPAIN, ETC. 

 THE BOY'S PERCY. 

 THE KNIGHTLY LEGENDS OF WALES;

 OR, THE BOY'S MABINOGION. 

"Amid all the strange and fanciful scenery of these stories, characterand the ideals of character remain at the simplest and purest. Theromantic history transpires in the healthy atmosphere of the open air onthe green earth beneath the open sky. * * * The figures of Right, Truth, Justice, Honor, Purity, Courage, Reverence for Law, are always in thebackground; and the grand passion inspired by the book is for strengthto do well and nobly in the world. "--_The Independent. _

"It is quite the beau ideal of a book for a present to an intelligentboy or girl. "--_Baltimore Gazette. _

 * * * * *

 STANLEY'S GREAT AFRICAN STORY FOR BOYS. 

 MY KALULU. 

 _PRINCE, KING AND SLAVE. A STORY OF CENTRAL AFRICA. _

 BY HENRY M. STANLEY. 

 _One volume, 12mo, New Edition, with many Illustrations, $1. 50_

Mr. Stanley's African romance for boys is based upon knowledge acquiredduring his journey in search of Dr. Livingstone, which began in 1871 andended in 1872. It is a fascinating story of strange scenes, incidentsand adventures among the tribes of Central Africa, and of encounterswith the wild animals that make their home there. One feature of thebook is its vivid description of the evils of the slave trade. Thepopularity of the story was great, and as it has been out of print, thepublishers have issued a new and cheaper edition, which will no doubtmeet with the same hearty reception accorded to the first. 

[Illustration: "YOUNG KALULU IS HERE!"]

"A fresh, breezy, stirring story for youths, interesting in itself andfull of information regarding life in the interior of the continent inwhich its scenes are laid. "--_The New York Times. _

"If the young reader is fond of strange adventures, he will find enoughin this volume to delight him all winter, and he will be hard to pleasewho is not charmed by its graphic pages. "--_The Boston Journal. _

 * * * * *

 OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND. 

 WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD PYLE. 

 =With Twenty-five Full-Page and many other Illustrations. =

 _One volume, royal 8vo, half leather, $2. 00_

"The scene of the story is mediæval Germany in the time of feuds androbber barons and romance. The kidnapping of Otto, his adventures amongrough soldiers, and his daring rescue, make up a spirited and thrillingstory. The drawings are in keeping with the text, and in mechanical andartistic qualities as well as in literary execution the book must begreeted as one of the very best juveniles of the year, quite worthy tosucceed to the remarkable popularity of Mr. Pyle's 'Robin Hood. '"--_Christian Union. _

[Illustration]

"Told with vividness and uncommon spirit. "--_Troy Press. _

"Far above the common run of juvenile tales. "--_Pittsburg Post. _

"Handsome and attractive in every respect. "--_New York Herald. _

"An addition of the highest character to juvenile literature. "--_Boston Times. _

"The decorative head and tail pieces, etc. , add much to theembellishment and rich holiday appearance of the book. "--_Portland Argus. _

"Far above the average quality of stories for the young. Mr. Pyle isseen in his most brilliant light in both the text and illustrations. Thevolume is a handsome specimen of a holiday book. "--_Boston Saturday Gazette. _

 * * * * *

 THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD

 OF GREAT RENOWN IN NOTTINGHAMSHIRE. 

 WRITTEN AND ELABORATELY ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD PYLE. 

 _One volume, royal 8vo, $3. 00_

"A superb book. "--_Chicago Inter-Ocean. _

"A very original work. "--_Boston Post. _

"A captivating book. "--_London Daily News. _

"An excellent piece of literary, artistic and mechanical work. "--_Louisville Commercial. _

[Illustration]

"This superb book is unquestionably the most original and elaborate everproduced by any American artist. Mr. Pyle has told, with pencil and pen, the complete and consecutive story of Robin Hood and his merry men intheir haunts in Sherwood Forest, gathered from the old ballads andlegends. Mr. Pyle's admirable illustrations are strewn profusely throughthe book. "--_Boston Transcript. _

 * * * * *

 AGAINST HEAVY ODDS. 

 _A TALE OF NORSE HEROISM. _

 BY HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN. 

 =With 13 full-page Illustrations by W. L. Taylor. =

 _One volume, 12mo, $1. 00_

The narrative of how the indomitable pluck and perseverance of IngomarVang, the young Norwegian inventor and whaler, enabled him to triumphagainst heavy odds will stir the blood in every boy's veins. The tragicfate of Prebensen, the rich, cruel and selfish oppressor of everyone inthe little northern whaling village, is pictured with much dramaticforce. A healthy, honest, manly tone pervades this story of a youngman's trials and final successes. The illustrations are in Mr. Taylor'sbest style, full of character and color, and faultlessly drawn. 

[Illustration: RAGNA IN TRULSON'S COTTAGE. ]

 * * * * *

 THE MODERN VIKINGS:

 _STORIES OF LIFE AND SPORT IN THE NORSELAND. _

 BY HJALMAR H. BOYESEN. 

 =With many full-page Illustrations. =

 _One volume, 12mo, $2. 00_

"About Professor Boyesen's writings there is a freshness which, while itretains the Norse flavor of Andersen, is modern rather than antiquelyquaint. One readily recognizes the fact that the author is a Norsemanreciting in English the tales and legends of his land, and notaddressing the children of his own country in their own language. Everypage is full of vigor and spirit. The boys and girls are not myths, butare full of life and action. While the stories are addressed to theyoung, their character is such that older people will not fail to beinterested in them. "--_The Boston Advertiser. _

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 BRIC-A-BRAC STORIES. 

 BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. 

 =With 24 full-page Illustrations by Walter Crane. =

 _One volume, 12mo, new and cheaper edition, $1. 50_

"It would be difficult to find a more delightful collection of fairytales. The children who are fortunate enough to possess 'Bric-a-BracStories' will pass their holidays as pleasantly and as profitably asRigi passed his. The book is illustrated with twenty-four fascinatingdrawings by Walter Crane. "--_Boston Herald. _

[Illustration: _Specimen Illustration, Reduced. _]

"When the little boy, for whose benefit the various articles ofbric-a-brac in his father's drawing room relate stories appropriate totheir several native countries, exclaims, at the conclusion of one ofthem: 'I almost think there can't be a better one than that!' thereader, of whatever age, will probably feel inclined to agree with him. Upon the whole, it is to be wished that every boy and girl in America, or anywhere else, might become intimately acquainted with the contentsof this book. There is more virtue in one of these stories than in theentire library of modern juvenile literature. "--_Julian Hawthorne. _

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 THE OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY BOOK. 

 BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. 

 =With many Quaint Illustrations by Miss Rosina Emmet. =

 _One volume, square 16mo, $1. 25_

"The little ones, who so willingly go back with us to 'Jack theGiant-Killer, ' 'Bluebeard, ' and the kindred stories of our childhood, will gladly welcome Mrs. Burton Harrison's 'Old-Fashioned Fairy Tales, 'where the giant, the dwarf, the fairy, the wicked princess, the ogre, the metamorphosed prince, and all the heroes of that line come into playand action. As they read the stories which compose this book they willmeet with all the familiar actors of the fairy world in different scenesindeed, and with new deeds of daring, witchcraft, or charmingbenevolence, but still the same characters of the old-fashioned fairylore. The graceful pencil of Miss Rosina Emmet has given a pictorialinterest to the book, and the many pictures scattered through its pagesaccord well with the good old-fashioned character of the tales. "--_Frank R Stockton. _

Transcriber's Note

The advert ("BY THE SAME AUTHOR") was originally at thefront of the book, but has been moved to the end. 

The fourth illustration appears on page 49, not 47. The List ofIllustrations has been accordingly corrected. 

The following typographical corrections have been made:

(Page 63) Quotation mark added to the end of the illustration caption. (Page 85) "dêvote" changed to "dévote". (Page 85) Quotation mark added after "episode is over. "(Page 96) Changed a semi-colon to a comma after "Courage". 

(Page 39) "thought 'd ask you" is as originally printed.