How To Flashing magicon q50

keyword : How To Flashing magicon q50 for bootloop , How To Flashing magicon q50 for softbrick , How To Flashing magicon q50 for hardbrick , How To Flashing magicon q50 Error Camera , How To Flashing magicon q50 blank screen , How To Flashing magicon q50 lost password , How To Flashing magicon q50 stuck logo , How To Flashing magicon q50 new 2017. How To Flashing magicon q50 repair phone.

DOWNLOAD FILE via Googledrive HERE

Download one of the above file:

How To Flashing magicon q50

a little princess by frances hodgson burnettchapter 15. the magic when sara had passed the house next doorshe had seen ram dass closing the shutters, and caught her glimpse of this room also. "it is a long time since i saw a nice placefrom the inside," was the thought which crossed her mind. there was the usual bright fire glowing inthe grate, and the indian gentleman was sitting before it.his head was resting in his hand, and he looked as lonely and unhappy as ever.

"poor man!" said sara."i wonder what you are supposing." and this was what he was "supposing" atthat very moment. "suppose," he was thinking, "suppose--evenif carmichael traces the people to moscow-- the little girl they took from madamepascal's school in paris is not the one we are in search of. suppose she proves to be quite a differentchild. what steps shall i take next?" when sara went into the house she met missminchin, who had come downstairs to scold the cook."where have you wasted your time?" she

demanded. "you have been out for hours.""it was so wet and muddy," sara answered, "it was hard to walk, because my shoes wereso bad and slipped about." "make no excuses," said miss minchin, "andtell no falsehoods." sara went in to the cook.the cook had received a severe lecture and was in a fearful temper as a result. she was only too rejoiced to have someoneto vent her rage on, and sara was a convenience, as usual."why didn't you stay all night?" she snapped.

sara laid her purchases on the table."here are the things," she said. the cook looked them over, grumbling.she was in a very savage humor indeed. "may i have something to eat?" sara asked rather faintly."tea's over and done with," was the answer. "did you expect me to keep it hot for you?"sara stood silent for a second. "i had no dinner," she said next, and hervoice was quite low. she made it low because she was afraid itwould tremble. "there's some bread in the pantry," saidthe cook. "that's all you'll get at this time ofday."

sara went and found the bread. it was old and hard and dry.the cook was in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat with it.it was always safe and easy to vent her spite on sara. really, it was hard for the child to climbthe three long flights of stairs leading to her attic. she often found them long and steep whenshe was tired; but tonight it seemed as if she would never reach the top.several times she was obliged to stop to rest.

when she reached the top landing she wasglad to see the glimmer of a light coming from under her door.that meant that ermengarde had managed to creep up to pay her a visit. there was some comfort in that.it was better than to go into the room alone and find it empty and desolate. the mere presence of plump, comfortableermengarde, wrapped in her red shawl, would warm it a little.yes; there ermengarde was when she opened the door. she was sitting in the middle of the bed,with her feet tucked safely under her.

she had never become intimate withmelchisedec and his family, though they rather fascinated her. when she found herself alone in the atticshe always preferred to sit on the bed until sara arrived. she had, in fact, on this occasion had timeto become rather nervous, because melchisedec had appeared and sniffed abouta good deal, and once had made her utter a repressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and, while he looked at her, sniffingpointedly in her direction. "oh, sara," she cried out, "i am glad youhave come.

melchy would sniff about so. i tried to coax him to go back, but hewouldn't for such a long time. i like him, you know; but it does frightenme when he sniffs right at me. do you think he ever would jump?" "no," answered sara.ermengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her."you do look tired, sara," she said; "you are quite pale." "i am tired," said sara, dropping on to thelopsided footstool. "oh, there's melchisedec, poor thing.he's come to ask for his supper."

melchisedec had come out of his hole as ifhe had been listening for her footstep. sara was quite sure he knew it. he came forward with an affectionate,expectant expression as sara put her hand in her pocket and turned it inside out,shaking her head. "i'm very sorry," she said. "i haven't one crumb left.go home, melchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing in my pocket.i'm afraid i forgot because the cook and miss minchin were so cross." melchisedec seemed to understand.he shuffled resignedly, if not contentedly,

back to his home."i did not expect to see you tonight, ermie," sara said. ermengarde hugged herself in the red shawl."miss amelia has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt," she explained."no one else ever comes and looks into the bedrooms after we are in bed. i could stay here until morning if i wantedto." she pointed toward the table under theskylight. sara had not looked toward it as she camein. a number of books were piled upon it.ermengarde's gesture was a dejected one.

"papa has sent me some more books, sara,"she said. "there they are."sara looked round and got up at once. she ran to the table, and picking up thetop volume, turned over its leaves quickly. for the moment she forgot her discomforts."ah," she cried out, "how beautiful! carlyle's french revolution. i have so wanted to read that!""i haven't," said ermengarde. "and papa will be so cross if i don't.he'll expect me to know all about it when i go home for the holidays. what shall i do?"sara stopped turning over the leaves and

looked at her with an excited flush on hercheeks. "look here," she cried, "if you'll lend methese books, i'll read them--and tell you everything that's in them afterward--andi'll tell it so that you will remember it, too." "oh, goodness!" exclaimed ermengarde."do you think you can?" "i know i can," sara answered."the little ones always remember what i tell them." "sara," said ermengarde, hope gleaming inher round face, "if you'll do that, and make me remember, i'll--i'll give youanything."

"i don't want you to give me anything,"said sara. "i want your books--i want them!"and her eyes grew big, and her chest heaved. "take them, then," said ermengarde."i wish i wanted them--but i don't. i'm not clever, and my father is, and hethinks i ought to be." sara was opening one book after the other. "what are you going to tell your father?"she asked, a slight doubt dawning in her mind."oh, he needn't know," answered ermengarde. "he'll think i've read them."

sara put down her book and shook her headslowly. "that's almost like telling lies," shesaid. "and lies--well, you see, they are not onlywicked--they're vulgar. sometimes"--reflectively--"i've thoughtperhaps i might do something wicked--i might suddenly fly into a rage and killmiss minchin, you know, when she was ill- treating me--but i couldn't be vulgar. why can't you tell your father i readthem?" "he wants me to read them," saidermengarde, a little discouraged by this unexpected turn of affairs.

"he wants you to know what is in them,"said sara. "and if i can tell it to you in an easy wayand make you remember it, i should think he would like that." "he'll like it if i learn anything in anyway," said rueful ermengarde. "you would if you were my father.""it's not your fault that--" began sara. she pulled herself up and stopped rathersuddenly. she had been going to say, "it's not yourfault that you are stupid." "that what?" ermengarde asked."that you can't learn things quickly,"

amended sara."if you can't, you can't. if i can--why, i can; that's all." she always felt very tender of ermengarde,and tried not to let her feel too strongly the difference between being able to learnanything at once, and not being able to learn anything at all. as she looked at her plump face, one of herwise, old-fashioned thoughts came to her. "perhaps," she said, "to be able to learnthings quickly isn't everything. to be kind is worth a great deal to otherpeople. if miss minchin knew everything on earthand was like what she is now, she'd still

be a detestable thing, and everybody wouldhate her. lots of clever people have done harm andhave been wicked. look at robespierre--" she stopped and examined ermengarde'scountenance, which was beginning to look bewildered."don't you remember?" she demanded. "i told you about him not long ago. i believe you've forgotten.""well, i don't remember all of it," admitted ermengarde. "well, you wait a minute," said sara, "andi'll take off my wet things and wrap myself

in the coverlet and tell you over again." she took off her hat and coat and hung themon a nail against the wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old pair of slippers. then she jumped on the bed, and drawing thecoverlet about her shoulders, sat with her arms round her knees."now, listen," she said. she plunged into the gory records of thefrench revolution, and told such stories of it that ermengarde's eyes grew round withalarm and she held her breath. but though she was rather terrified, therewas a delightful thrill in listening, and she was not likely to forget robespierreagain, or to have any doubts about the

princesse de lamballe. "you know they put her head on a pike anddanced round it," sara explained. "and she had beautiful floating blondehair; and when i think of her, i never see her head on her body, but always on a pike,with those furious people dancing and howling." it was agreed that mr. st. john was to betold the plan they had made, and for the present the books were to be left in theattic. "now let's tell each other things," saidsara. "how are you getting on with your frenchlessons?"

"ever so much better since the last time icame up here and you explained the conjugations.miss minchin could not understand why i did my exercises so well that first morning." sara laughed a little and hugged her knees."she doesn't understand why lottie is doing her sums so well," she said; "but it isbecause she creeps up here, too, and i help her." she glanced round the room."the attic would be rather nice--if it wasn't so dreadful," she said, laughingagain. "it's a good place to pretend in."

the truth was that ermengarde did not knowanything of the sometimes almost unbearable side of life in the attic and she had not asufficiently vivid imagination to depict it for herself. on the rare occasions that she could reachsara's room she only saw the side of it which was made exciting by things whichwere "pretended" and stories which were told. her visits partook of the character ofadventures; and though sometimes sara looked rather pale, and it was not to bedenied that she had grown very thin, her proud little spirit would not admit ofcomplaints.

she had never confessed that at times shewas almost ravenous with hunger, as she was tonight. she was growing rapidly, and her constantwalking and running about would have given her a keen appetite even if she had hadabundant and regular meals of a much more nourishing nature than the unappetizing, inferior food snatched at such odd times assuited the kitchen convenience. she was growing used to a certain gnawingfeeling in her young stomach. "i suppose soldiers feel like this whenthey are on a long and weary march," she often said to herself.she liked the sound of the phrase, "long

and weary march." it made her feel rather like a soldier.she had also a quaint sense of being a hostess in the attic. "if i lived in a castle," she argued, "andermengarde was the lady of another castle, and came to see me, with knights andsquires and vassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when i heard the clarions sounding outside the drawbridge i should godown to receive her, and i should spread feasts in the banquet hall and call inminstrels to sing and play and relate romances.

when she comes into the attic i can'tspread feasts, but i can tell stories, and not let her know disagreeable things. i dare say poor chatelaines had to do thatin time of famine, when their lands had been pillaged." she was a proud, brave little chatelaine,and dispensed generously the one hospitality she could offer--the dreams shedreamed--the visions she saw--the imaginings which were her joy and comfort. so, as they sat together, ermengarde didnot know that she was faint as well as ravenous, and that while she talked she nowand then wondered if her hunger would let

her sleep when she was left alone. she felt as if she had never been quite sohungry before. "i wish i was as thin as you, sara,"ermengarde said suddenly. "i believe you are thinner than you used tobe. your eyes look so big, and look at thesharp little bones sticking out of your elbow!" sara pulled down her sleeve, which hadpushed itself up. "i always was a thin child," she saidbravely, "and i always had big green eyes." "i love your queer eyes," said ermengarde,looking into them with affectionate

admiration."they always look as if they saw such a long way. i love them--and i love them to be green--though they look black generally." "they are cat's eyes," laughed sara; "but ican't see in the dark with them--because i have tried, and i couldn't--i wish icould." it was just at this minute that somethinghappened at the skylight which neither of them saw. if either of them had chanced to turn andlook, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face which peeredcautiously into the room and disappeared as

quickly and almost as silently as it hadappeared. not quite as silently, however.sara, who had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof. "that didn't sound like melchisedec," shesaid. "it wasn't scratchy enough.""what?" said ermengarde, a little startled. "didn't you think you heard something?"asked sara. "n-no," ermengarde faltered."did you?" {another ed. has "no-no,"} "perhaps i didn't," said sara; "but ithought i did.

it sounded as if something was on theslates--something that dragged softly." "what could it be?" said ermengarde. "could it be--robbers?""no," sara began cheerfully. "there is nothing to steal--"she broke off in the middle of her words. they both heard the sound that checked her. it was not on the slates, but on the stairsbelow, and it was miss minchin's angry voice.sara sprang off the bed, and put out the candle. "she is scolding becky," she whispered, asshe stood in the darkness.

"she is making her cry.""will she come in here?" ermengarde whispered back, panic-stricken. "no. she will think i am in bed.don't stir." it was very seldom that miss minchinmounted the last flight of stairs. sara could only remember that she had doneit once before. but now she was angry enough to be comingat least part of the way up, and it sounded as if she was driving becky before her. "you impudent, dishonest child!" they heardher say. "cook tells me she has missed thingsrepeatedly."

"'t warn't me, mum," said becky sobbing. "i was 'ungry enough, but 't warn't me--never!" "you deserve to be sent to prison," saidmiss minchin's voice. "picking and stealing! half a meat pie, indeed!""'t warn't me," wept becky. "i could 'ave eat a whole un--but i neverlaid a finger on it." miss minchin was out of breath betweentemper and mounting the stairs. the meat pie had been intended for herspecial late supper. it became apparent that she boxed becky'sears.

"don't tell falsehoods," she said."go to your room this instant." both sara and ermengarde heard the slap,and then heard becky run in her slipshod shoes up the stairs and into her attic.they heard her door shut, and knew that she threw herself upon her bed. "i could 'ave e't two of 'em," they heardher cry into her pillow. "an' i never took a bite.'twas cook give it to her policeman." sara stood in the middle of the room in thedarkness. she was clenching her little teeth andopening and shutting fiercely her outstretched hands.

she could scarcely stand still, but shedared not move until miss minchin had gone down the stairs and all was still."the wicked, cruel thing!" she burst forth. "the cook takes things herself and thensays becky steals them. she doesn't!she doesn't! she's so hungry sometimes that she eatscrusts out of the ash barrel!" she pressed her hands hard against her faceand burst into passionate little sobs, and ermengarde, hearing this unusual thing, wasoverawed by it. sara was crying! the unconquerable sara!it seemed to denote something new--some

mood she had never known. suppose--suppose--a new dread possibilitypresented itself to her kind, slow, little mind all at once. she crept off the bed in the dark and foundher way to the table where the candle stood.she struck a match and lit the candle. when she had lighted it, she bent forwardand looked at sara, with her new thought growing to definite fear in her eyes. "sara," she said in a timid, almost awe-stricken voice, "are--are--you never told me--i don't want to be rude, but--are youever hungry?"

it was too much just at that moment. the barrier broke down.sara lifted her face from her hands. "yes," she said in a new passionate way."yes, i am. i'm so hungry now that i could almost eatyou. and it makes it worse to hear poor becky.she's hungrier than i am." ermengarde gasped. "oh, oh!" she cried woefully."and i never knew!" "i didn't want you to know," sara said."it would have made me feel like a street beggar.

i know i look like a street beggar.""no, you don't--you don't!" ermengarde broke in."your clothes are a little queer--but you couldn't look like a street beggar. you haven't a street-beggar face.""a little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity," said sara, with a short littlelaugh in spite of herself. "here it is." and she pulled out the thin ribbon from herneck. "he wouldn't have given me his christmassixpence if i hadn't looked as if i needed it."

somehow the sight of the dear littlesixpence was good for both of them. it made them laugh a little, though theyboth had tears in their eyes. "who was he?" asked ermengarde, looking atit quite as if it had not been a mere ordinary silver sixpence."he was a darling little thing going to a party," said sara. "he was one of the large family, the littleone with the round legs--the one i call guy clarence. i suppose his nursery was crammed withchristmas presents and hampers full of cakes and things, and he could see i hadnothing."

ermengarde gave a little jump backward. the last sentences had recalled somethingto her troubled mind and given her a sudden inspiration."oh, sara!" she cried. "what a silly thing i am not to havethought of it!" "of what?""something splendid!" said ermengarde, in an excited hurry. "this very afternoon my nicest aunt sent mea box. it is full of good things. i never touched it, i had so much puddingat dinner, and i was so bothered about

papa's books."her words began to tumble over each other. "it's got cake in it, and little meat pies,and jam tarts and buns, and oranges and red-currant wine, and figs and chocolate.i'll creep back to my room and get it this minute, and we'll eat it now." sara almost reeled.when one is faint with hunger the mention of food has sometimes a curious effect.she clutched ermengarde's arm. "do you think--you could?" she ejaculated. "i know i could," answered ermengarde, andshe ran to the door--opened it softly--put her head out into the darkness, andlistened.

then she went back to sara. "the lights are out.everybody's in bed. i can creep--and creep--and no one willhear." it was so delightful that they caught eachother's hands and a sudden light sprang into sara's eyes."ermie!" she said. "let us pretend! let us pretend it's a party!and oh, won't you invite the prisoner in the next cell?""yes! yes! let us knock on the wall now. the jailer won't hear."

sara went to the wall.through it she could hear poor becky crying more softly.she knocked four times. "that means, 'come to me through the secretpassage under the wall,' she explained. 'i have something to communicate.'"five quick knocks answered her. "she is coming," she said. almost immediately the door of the atticopened and becky appeared. her eyes were red and her cap was slidingoff, and when she caught sight of ermengarde she began to rub her facenervously with her apron. "don't mind me a bit, becky!" criedermengarde.

"miss ermengarde has asked you to come in,"said sara, "because she is going to bring a box of good things up here to us." becky's cap almost fell off entirely, shebroke in with such excitement. "to eat, miss?" she said."things that's good to eat?" "yes," answered sara, "and we are going topretend a party." "and you shall have as much as you want toeat," put in ermengarde. "i'll go this minute!" she was in such haste that as she tiptoedout of the attic she dropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen.no one saw it for a minute or so.

becky was too much overpowered by the goodluck which had befallen her. "oh, miss! oh, miss!" she gasped; "i knowit was you that asked her to let me come. it--it makes me cry to think of it." and she went to sara's side and stood andlooked at her worshipingly. but in sara's hungry eyes the old light hadbegun to glow and transform her world for her. here in the attic--with the cold nightoutside--with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed--with the memory ofthe awful unfed look in the beggar child's eyes not yet faded--this simple, cheerfulthing had happened like a thing of magic.

she caught her breath. "somehow, something always happens," shecried, "just before things get to the very worst.it is as if the magic did it. if i could only just remember that always. the worst thing never quite comes."she gave becky a little cheerful shake. "no, no!you mustn't cry!" she said. "we must make haste and set the table." "set the table, miss?" said becky, gazinground the room. "what'll we set it with?"sara looked round the attic, too.

"there doesn't seem to be much," sheanswered, half laughing. that moment she saw something and pouncedupon it. it was ermengarde's red shawl which layupon the floor. "here's the shawl," she cried."i know she won't mind it. it will make such a nice red tablecloth." they pulled the old table forward, andthrew the shawl over it. red is a wonderfully kind and comfortablecolor. it began to make the room look furnisheddirectly. "how nice a red rug would look on thefloor!" exclaimed sara.

"we must pretend there is one!" her eye swept the bare boards with a swiftglance of admiration. the rug was laid down already. "how soft and thick it is!" she said, withthe little laugh which becky knew the meaning of; and she raised and set her footdown again delicately, as if she felt something under it. "yes, miss," answered becky, watching herwith serious rapture. she was always quite serious."what next, now?" said sara, and she stood still and put her hands over her eyes.

"something will come if i think and wait alittle"--in a soft, expectant voice. "the magic will tell me." one of her favorite fancies was that on"the outside," as she called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. becky had seen her stand and wait many atime before, and knew that in a few seconds she would uncover an enlightened, laughingface. in a moment she did. "there!" she cried."it has come! i know now!i must look among the things in the old

trunk i had when i was a princess." she flew to its corner and kneeled down.it had not been put in the attic for her benefit, but because there was no room forit elsewhere. nothing had been left in it but rubbish. but she knew she should find something.the magic always arranged that kind of thing in one way or another. in a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking that it had been overlooked, and when she herself had found it she had keptit as a relic. it contained a dozen small whitehandkerchiefs.

she seized them joyfully and ran to thetable. she began to arrange them upon the redtable-cover, patting and coaxing them into shape with the narrow lace edge curlingoutward, her magic working its spells for her as she did it. "these are the plates," she said."they are golden plates. these are the richly embroidered napkins.nuns worked them in convents in spain." "did they, miss?" breathed becky, her verysoul uplifted by the information. "you must pretend it," said sara."if you pretend it enough, you will see them."

"yes, miss," said becky; and as sarareturned to the trunk she devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end somuch to be desired. sara turned suddenly to find her standingby the table, looking very queer indeed. she had shut her eyes, and was twisting herface in strange convulsive contortions, her hands hanging stiffly clenched at hersides. she looked as if she was trying to liftsome enormous weight. "what is the matter, becky?"sara cried. "what are you doing?" becky opened her eyes with a start."i was a-'pretendin',' miss," she answered

a little sheepishly; "i was tryin' to seeit like you do. i almost did," with a hopeful grin. "but it takes a lot o' stren'th.""perhaps it does if you are not used to it," said sara, with friendly sympathy;"but you don't know how easy it is when you've done it often. i wouldn't try so hard just at first.it will come to you after a while. i'll just tell you what things are.look at these." she held an old summer hat in her handwhich she had fished out of the bottom of the trunk.there was a wreath of flowers on it.

she pulled the wreath off. "these are garlands for the feast," shesaid grandly. "they fill all the air with perfume.there's a mug on the wash-stand, becky. oh--and bring the soap dish for acenterpiece." becky handed them to her reverently."what are they now, miss?" she inquired. "you'd think they was made of crockery--buti know they ain't." "this is a carven flagon," said sara,arranging tendrils of the wreath about the mug. "and this"--bending tenderly over the soapdish and heaping it with roses--"is purest

alabaster encrusted with gems." she touched the things gently, a happysmile hovering about her lips which made her look as if she were a creature in adream. "my, ain't it lovely!" whispered becky. "if we just had something for bonbondishes," sara murmured. "there!"--darting to the trunk again."i remember i saw something this minute." it was only a bundle of wool wrapped in redand white tissue paper, but the tissue paper was soon twisted into the form oflittle dishes, and was combined with the remaining flowers to ornament thecandlestick which was to light the feast.

only the magic could have made it more thanan old table covered with a red shawl and set with rubbish from a long-unopenedtrunk. but sara drew back and gazed at it, seeingwonders; and becky, after staring in delight, spoke with bated breath. "this 'ere," she suggested, with a glanceround the attic--"is it the bastille now-- or has it turned into somethin' different?""oh, yes, yes!" said sara. "quite different. it is a banquet hall!""my eye, miss!" ejaculated becky. "a blanket 'all!" and she turned to viewthe splendors about her with awed

bewilderment. "a banquet hall," said sara."a vast chamber where feasts are given. it has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels'gallery, and a huge chimney filled with blazing oaken logs, and it is brilliantwith waxen tapers twinkling on every side." "my eye, miss sara!" gasped becky again. then the door opened, and ermengarde camein, rather staggering under the weight of her hamper.she started back with an exclamation of joy. to enter from the chill darkness outside,and find one's self confronted by a totally

unanticipated festal board, draped withred, adorned with white napery, and wreathed with flowers, was to feel that thepreparations were brilliant indeed. "oh, sara!" she cried out."you are the cleverest girl i ever saw!" "isn't it nice?" said sara. "they are things out of my old trunk.i asked my magic, and it told me to go and look.""but oh, miss," cried becky, "wait till she's told you what they are! they ain't just--oh, miss, please tellher," appealing to sara. so sara told her, and because her magichelped her she made her almost see it all:

the golden platters--the vaulted spaces--the blazing logs--the twinkling waxen tapers. as the things were taken out of the hamper--the frosted cakes--the fruits--the bonbons and the wine--the feast became a splendidthing. "it's like a real party!" cried ermengarde. "it's like a queen's table," sighed becky.then ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought."i'll tell you what, sara," she said. "pretend you are a princess now and this isa royal feast." "but it's your feast," said sara; "you mustbe the princess, and we will be your maids

of honor." "oh, i can't," said ermengarde."i'm too fat, and i don't know how. you be her.""well, if you want me to," said sara. but suddenly she thought of something elseand ran to the rusty grate. "there is a lot of paper and rubbishstuffed in here!" she exclaimed. "if we light it, there will be a brightblaze for a few minutes, and we shall feel as if it was a real fire." she struck a match and lighted it up with agreat specious glow which illuminated the room."by the time it stops blazing," sara said,

"we shall forget about its not being real." she stood in the dancing glow and smiled."doesn't it look real?" she said. "now we will begin the party."she led the way to the table. she waved her hand graciously to ermengardeand becky. she was in the midst of her dream. "advance, fair damsels," she said in herhappy dream-voice, "and be seated at the banquet table. my noble father, the king, who is absent ona long journey, has commanded me to feast you."she turned her head slightly toward the

corner of the room. "what, ho, there, minstrels!strike up with your viols and bassoons. princesses," she explained rapidly toermengarde and becky, "always had minstrels to play at their feasts. pretend there is a minstrel gallery upthere in the corner. now we will begin." they had barely had time to take theirpieces of cake into their hands--not one of them had time to do more, when--they allthree sprang to their feet and turned pale faces toward the door--listening--listening.

someone was coming up the stairs.there was no mistake about it. each of them recognized the angry, mountingtread and knew that the end of all things had come."it's--the missus!" choked becky, and dropped her piece of cake upon the floor. "yes," said sara, her eyes growing shockedand large in her small white face. "miss minchin has found us out."miss minchin struck the door open with a blow of her hand. she was pale herself, but it was with rage.she looked from the frightened faces to the banquet table, and from the banquet tableto the last flicker of the burnt paper in

the grate. "i have been suspecting something of thissort," she exclaimed; "but i did not dream of such audacity.lavinia was telling the truth." so they knew that it was lavinia who hadsomehow guessed their secret and had betrayed them.miss minchin strode over to becky and boxed her ears for a second time. "you impudent creature!" she said."you leave the house in the morning!" sara stood quite still, her eyes growinglarger, her face paler. ermengarde burst into tears.

"oh, don't send her away," she sobbed."my aunt sent me the hamper. we're--only--having a party.""so i see," said miss minchin, witheringly. "with the princess sara at the head of thetable." she turned fiercely on sara."it is your doing, i know," she cried. "ermengarde would never have thought ofsuch a thing. you decorated the table, i suppose--withthis rubbish." she stamped her foot at becky. "go to your attic!" she commanded, andbecky stole away, her face hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking.then it was sara's turn again.

"i will attend to you tomorrow. you shall have neither breakfast, dinner,nor supper!" "i have not had either dinner or suppertoday, miss minchin," said sara, rather faintly. "then all the better.you will have something to remember. don't stand there.put those things into the hamper again." she began to sweep them off the table intothe hamper herself, and caught sight of ermengarde's new books. "and you"--to ermengarde--"have broughtyour beautiful new books into this dirty

attic.take them up and go back to bed. you will stay there all day tomorrow, and ishall write to your papa. what would he say if he knew where you aretonight?" something she saw in sara's grave, fixedgaze at this moment made her turn on her fiercely."what are you thinking of?" she demanded. "why do you look at me like that?" "i was wondering," answered sara, as shehad answered that notable day in the schoolroom."what were you wondering?" it was very like the scene in theschoolroom.

there was no pertness in sara's manner.it was only sad and quiet. "i was wondering," she said in a low voice,"what my papa would say if he knew where i am tonight." miss minchin was infuriated just as she hadbeen before and her anger expressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion.she flew at her and shook her. "you insolent, unmanageable child!" shecried. "how dare you!how dare you!" she picked up the books, swept the rest ofthe feast back into the hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into ermengarde's arms, andpushed her before her toward the door.

"i will leave you to wonder," she said. "go to bed this instant."and she shut the door behind herself and poor stumbling ermengarde, and left sarastanding quite alone. the dream was quite at an end. the last spark had died out of the paper inthe grate and left only black tinder; the table was left bare, the golden plates andrichly embroidered napkins, and the garlands were transformed again into old handkerchiefs, scraps of red and whitepaper, and discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor; the minstrels inthe minstrel gallery had stolen away, and

the viols and bassoons were still. emily was sitting with her back against thewall, staring very hard. sara saw her, and went and picked her upwith trembling hands. "there isn't any banquet left, emily," shesaid. "and there isn't any princess.there is nothing left but the prisoners in the bastille." and she sat down and hid her face. what would have happened if she had nothidden it just then, and if she had chanced to look up at the skylight at the wrongmoment, i do not know--perhaps the end of

this chapter might have been quite different--because if she had glanced atthe skylight she would certainly have been startled by what she would have seen. she would have seen exactly the same facepressed against the glass and peering in at her as it had peered in earlier in theevening when she had been talking to ermengarde. but she did not look up.she sat with her little black head in her arms for some time.she always sat like that when she was trying to bear something in silence.

then she got up and went slowly to the bed."i can't pretend anything else--while i am awake," she said."there wouldn't be any use in trying. if i go to sleep, perhaps a dream will comeand pretend for me." she suddenly felt so tired--perhaps throughwant of food--that she sat down on the edge of the bed quite weakly. "suppose there was a bright fire in thegrate, with lots of little dancing flames," she murmured. "suppose there was a comfortable chairbefore it--and suppose there was a small table near, with a little hot--hot supperon it.

and suppose"--as she drew the thincoverings over her--"suppose this was a beautiful soft bed, with fleecy blanketsand large downy pillows. suppose--suppose--" and her very wearinesswas good to her, for her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep.she did not know how long she slept. but she had been tired enough to sleepdeeply and profoundly--too deeply and soundly to be disturbed by anything, evenby the squeaks and scamperings of melchisedec's entire family, if all his sons and daughters had chosen to come outof their hole to fight and tumble and play. when she awakened it was rather suddenly,and she did not know that any particular

thing had called her out of her sleep. the truth was, however, that it was a soundwhich had called her back--a real sound-- the click of the skylight as it fell inclosing after a lithe white figure which slipped through it and crouched down close by upon the slates of the roof--just nearenough to see what happened in the attic, but not near enough to be seen.at first she did not open her eyes. she felt too sleepy and--curiously enough--too warm and comfortable. she was so warm and comfortable, indeed,that she did not believe she was really awake.

she never was as warm and cozy as thisexcept in some lovely vision. "what a nice dream!" she murmured."i feel quite warm. i--don't--want--to--wake--up." of course it was a dream.she felt as if warm, delightful bedclothes were heaped upon her. she could actually feel blankets, and whenshe put out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin-covered eider-downquilt. she must not awaken from this delight--shemust be quite still and make it last. but she could not--even though she kept hereyes closed tightly, she could not.

something was forcing her to awaken--something in the room. it was a sense of light, and a sound--thesound of a crackling, roaring little fire. "oh, i am awakening," she said mournfully. "i can't help it--i can't."her eyes opened in spite of herself. and then she actually smiled--for what shesaw she had never seen in the attic before, and knew she never should see. "oh, i haven't awakened," she whispered,daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her."i am dreaming yet." she knew it must be a dream, for if shewere awake such things could not--could not

be.do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth? this is what she saw. in the grate there was a glowing, blazingfire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon the floorwas a thick, warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a smallfolding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread smallcovered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot; on the bed were new warm coverings and a

satin-covered down quilt; at the foot acurious wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers, and some books. the room of her dream seemed changed intofairyland--and it was flooded with warm light, for a bright lamp stood on the tablecovered with a rosy shade. she sat up, resting on her elbow, and herbreathing came short and fast. "it does not--melt away," she panted."oh, i never had such a dream before." she scarcely dared to stir; but at last shepushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile. "i am dreaming--i am getting out of bed,"she heard her own voice say; and then, as

she stood up in the midst of it all,turning slowly from side to side--"i am dreaming it stays--real! i'm dreaming it feels real.it's bewitched--or i'm bewitched. i only think i see it all."her words began to hurry themselves. "if i can only keep on thinking it," shecried, "i don't care! i don't care!"she stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again. "oh, it isn't true!" she said."it can't be true! but oh, how true it seems!"

the blazing fire drew her to it, and sheknelt down and held out her hands close to it--so close that the heat made her startback. "a fire i only dreamed wouldn't be hot,"she cried. she sprang up, touched the table, thedishes, the rug; she went to the bed and touched the blankets. she took up the soft wadded dressing-gown,and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to her cheek."it's warm. it's soft!" she almost sobbed. "it's real.it must be!"

she threw it over her shoulders, and puther feet into the slippers. "they are real, too. it's all real!" she cried."i am not--i am not dreaming!" she almost staggered to the books andopened the one which lay upon the top. something was written on the flyleaf--justa few words, and they were these: "to the little girl in the attic.from a friend." when she saw that--wasn't it a strangething for her to do--she put her face down upon the page and burst into tears."i don't know who it is," she said; "but somebody cares for me a little.

i have a friend."she took her candle and stole out of her own room and into becky's, and stood by herbedside. "becky, becky!" she whispered as loudly asshe dared. "wake up!" when becky wakened, and she sat uprightstaring aghast, her face still smudged with traces of tears, beside her stood a littlefigure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk. the face she saw was a shining, wonderfulthing. the princess sara--as she remembered her--stood at her very bedside, holding a candle

in her hand. "come," she said."oh, becky, come!" becky was too frightened to speak. she simply got up and followed her, withher mouth and eyes open, and without a word. and when they crossed the threshold, sarashut the door gently and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things which madeher brain reel and her hungry senses faint. "it's true! it's true!" she cried."i've touched them all.

they are as real as we are. the magic has come and done it, becky,while we were asleep--the magic that won't let those worst things ever quite happen." > a little princess by frances hodgson burnettchapter 16. the visitor imagine, if you can, what the rest of theevening was like. how they crouched by the fire which blazedand leaped and made so much of itself in the little grate.

how they removed the covers of the dishes,and found rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and sandwiches and toastand muffins enough for both of them. the mug from the washstand was used asbecky's tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary topretend that it was anything but tea. they were warm and full-fed and happy, andit was just like sara that, having found her strange good fortune real, she shouldgive herself up to the enjoyment of it to the utmost. she had lived such a life of imaginingsthat she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing that happened, and almostto cease, in a short time, to find it

bewildering. "i don't know anyone in the world who couldhave done it," she said; "but there has been someone.and here we are sitting by their fire--and- -and--it's true! and whoever it is--wherever they are--ihave a friend, becky--someone is my friend." it cannot be denied that as they sat beforethe blazing fire, and ate the nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind ofrapturous awe, and looked into each other's eyes with something like doubt.

"do you think," becky faltered once, in awhisper, "do you think it could melt away, miss?hadn't we better be quick?" and she hastily crammed her sandwich intoher mouth. if it was only a dream, kitchen mannerswould be overlooked. "no, it won't melt away," said sara. "i am eating this muffin, and i can tasteit. you never really eat things in dreams.you only think you are going to eat them. besides, i keep giving myself pinches; andi touched a hot piece of coal just now, on purpose."the sleepy comfort which at length almost

overpowered them was a heavenly thing. it was the drowsiness of happy, well-fedchildhood, and they sat in the fire glow and luxuriated in it until sara foundherself turning to look at her transformed bed. there were even blankets enough to sharewith becky. the narrow couch in the next attic was morecomfortable that night than its occupant had ever dreamed that it could be. as she went out of the room, becky turnedupon the threshold and looked about her with devouring eyes.

"if it ain't here in the mornin', miss,"she said, "it's been here tonight, anyways, an' i shan't never forget it."she looked at each particular thing, as if to commit it to memory. "the fire was there", pointing with herfinger, "an' the table was before it; an' the lamp was there, an' the light lookedrosy red; an' there was a satin cover on your bed, an' a warm rug on the floor, an' everythin' looked beautiful; an'"--shepaused a second, and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly--"there was soup an'sandwiches an' muffins--there was." and, with this conviction a reality atleast, she went away.

through the mysterious agency which worksin schools and among servants, it was quite well known in the morning that sara crewewas in horrible disgrace, that ermengarde was under punishment, and that becky would have been packed out of the house beforebreakfast, but that a scullery maid could not be dispensed with at once. the servants knew that she was allowed tostay because miss minchin could not easily find another creature helpless and humbleenough to work like a bounden slave for so few shillings a week. the elder girls in the schoolroom knew thatif miss minchin did not send sara away it

was for practical reasons of her own. "she's growing so fast and learning such alot, somehow," said jessie to lavinia, "that she will be given classes soon, andmiss minchin knows she will have to work for nothing. it was rather nasty of you, lavvy, to tellabout her having fun in the garret. how did you find it out?""i got it out of lottie. she's such a baby she didn't know she wastelling me. there was nothing nasty at all in speakingto miss minchin. i felt it my duty"--priggishly.

"she was being deceitful.and it's ridiculous that she should look so grand, and be made so much of, in her ragsand tatters!" "what were they doing when miss minchincaught them?" "pretending some silly thing.ermengarde had taken up her hamper to share with sara and becky. she never invites us to share things.not that i care, but it's rather vulgar of her to share with servant girls in attics.i wonder miss minchin didn't turn sara out- -even if she does want her for a teacher." "if she was turned out where would she go?"inquired jessie, a trifle anxiously.

"how do i know?" snapped lavinia. "she'll look rather queer when she comesinto the schoolroom this morning, i should think--after what's happened.she had no dinner yesterday, and she's not to have any today." jessie was not as ill-natured as she wassilly. she picked up her book with a little jerk."well, i think it's horrid," she said. "they've no right to starve her to death." when sara went into the kitchen thatmorning the cook looked askance at her, and so did the housemaids; but she passed themhurriedly.

she had, in fact, overslept herself alittle, and as becky had done the same, neither had had time to see the other, andeach had come downstairs in haste. sara went into the scullery. becky was violently scrubbing a kettle, andwas actually gurgling a little song in her throat.she looked up with a wildly elated face. "it was there when i wakened, miss--theblanket," she whispered excitedly. "it was as real as it was last night.""so was mine," said sara. "it is all there now--all of it. while i was dressing i ate some of the coldthings we left."

"oh, laws!oh, laws!" becky uttered the exclamation in a sort ofrapturous groan, and ducked her head over her kettle just in time, as the cook camein from the kitchen. miss minchin had expected to see in sara,when she appeared in the schoolroom, very much what lavinia had expected to see. sara had always been an annoying puzzle toher, because severity never made her cry or look frightened. when she was scolded she stood still andlistened politely with a grave face; when she was punished she performed her extratasks or went without her meals, making no

complaint or outward sign of rebellion. the very fact that she never made animpudent answer seemed to miss minchin a kind of impudence in itself. but after yesterday's deprivation of meals,the violent scene of last night, the prospect of hunger today, she must surelyhave broken down. it would be strange indeed if she did notcome downstairs with pale cheeks and red eyes and an unhappy, humbled face. miss minchin saw her for the first timewhen she entered the schoolroom to hear the little french class recite its lessons andsuperintend its exercises.

and she came in with a springing step,color in her cheeks, and a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth.it was the most astonishing thing miss minchin had ever known. it gave her quite a shock.what was the child made of? what could such a thing mean?she called her at once to her desk. "you do not look as if you realize that youare in disgrace," she said. "are you absolutely hardened?" the truth is that when one is still achild--or even if one is grown up--and has been well fed, and has slept long andsoftly and warm; when one has gone to sleep

in the midst of a fairy story, and has wakened to find it real, one cannot beunhappy or even look as if one were; and one could not, if one tried, keep a glow ofjoy out of one's eyes. miss minchin was almost struck dumb by thelook of sara's eyes when she made her perfectly respectful answer."i beg your pardon, miss minchin," she said; "i know that i am in disgrace." "be good enough not to forget it and lookas if you had come into a fortune. it is an impertinence.and remember you are to have no food today."

"yes, miss minchin," sara answered; but asshe turned away her heart leaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. "if the magic had not saved me just intime," she thought, "how horrible it would have been!""she can't be very hungry," whispered lavinia. "just look at her.perhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast"--with a spiteful laugh."she's different from other people," said jessie, watching sara with her class. "sometimes i'm a bit frightened of her.""ridiculous thing!" ejaculated lavinia.

all through the day the light was in sara'sface, and the color in her cheek. the servants cast puzzled glances at her,and whispered to each other, and miss amelia's small blue eyes wore an expressionof bewilderment. what such an audacious look of well-being,under august displeasure could mean she could not understand.it was, however, just like sara's singular obstinate way. she was probably determined to brave thematter out. one thing sara had resolved upon, as shethought things over. the wonders which had happened must be kepta secret, if such a thing were possible.

if miss minchin should choose to mount tothe attic again, of course all would be discovered. but it did not seem likely that she woulddo so for some time at least, unless she was led by suspicion. ermengarde and lottie would be watched withsuch strictness that they would not dare to steal out of their beds again.ermengarde could be told the story and trusted to keep it secret. if lottie made any discoveries, she couldbe bound to secrecy also. perhaps the magic itself would help to hideits own marvels.

"but whatever happens," sara kept saying toherself all day--"whatever happens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenlykind person who is my friend--my friend. if i never know who it is--if i never caneven thank him--i shall never feel quite so lonely.oh, the magic was good to me!" if it was possible for weather to be worsethan it had been the day before, it was worse this day--wetter, muddier, colder. there were more errands to be done, thecook was more irritable, and, knowing that sara was in disgrace, she was more savage.but what does anything matter when one's magic has just proved itself one's friend.

sara's supper of the night before had givenher strength, she knew that she should sleep well and warmly, and, even though shehad naturally begun to be hungry again before evening, she felt that she could bear it until breakfast-time on thefollowing day, when her meals would surely be given to her again.it was quite late when she was at last allowed to go upstairs. she had been told to go into the schoolroomand study until ten o'clock, and she had become interested in her work, and remainedover her books later. when she reached the top flight of stairsand stood before the attic door, it must be

confessed that her heart beat rather fast."of course it might all have been taken away," she whispered, trying to be brave. "it might only have been lent to me forjust that one awful night. but it was lent to me--i had it.it was real." she pushed the door open and went in. once inside, she gasped slightly, shut thedoor, and stood with her back against it looking from side to side.the magic had been there again. it actually had, and it had done even morethan before. the fire was blazing, in lovely leapingflames, more merrily than ever.

a number of new things had been broughtinto the attic which so altered the look of it that if she had not been past doubtingshe would have rubbed her eyes. upon the low table another supper stood--this time with cups and plates for becky as well as herself; a piece of bright, heavy,strange embroidery covered the battered mantel, and on it some ornaments had beenplaced. all the bare, ugly things which could becovered with draperies had been concealed and made to look quite pretty. some odd materials of rich colors had beenfastened against the wall with fine, sharp tacks--so sharp that they could be pressedinto the wood and plaster without

hammering. some brilliant fans were pinned up, andthere were several large cushions, big and substantial enough to use as seats. a wooden box was covered with a rug, andsome cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite the air of a sofa. sara slowly moved away from the door andsimply sat down and looked and looked again."it is exactly like something fairy come true," she said. "there isn't the least difference.i feel as if i might wish for anything--

diamonds or bags of gold--and they wouldappear! that wouldn't be any stranger than this. is this my garret?am i the same cold, ragged, damp sara? and to think i used to pretend and pretendand wish there were fairies! the one thing i always wanted was to see afairy story come true. i am living in a fairy story.i feel as if i might be a fairy myself, and able to turn things into anything else." she rose and knocked upon the wall for theprisoner in the next cell, and the prisoner came.when she entered she almost dropped in a

heap upon the floor. for a few seconds she quite lost herbreath. "oh, laws!" she gasped."oh, laws, miss!" "you see," said sara. on this night becky sat on a cushion uponthe hearth rug and had a cup and saucer of her own. when sara went to bed she found that shehad a new thick mattress and big downy pillows. her old mattress and pillow had beenremoved to becky's bedstead, and,

consequently, with these additions beckyhad been supplied with unheard-of comfort. "where does it all come from?" becky broke forth once."laws, who does it, miss?" "don't let us even ask," said sara."if it were not that i want to say, 'oh, thank you,' i would rather not know. it makes it more beautiful."from that time life became more wonderful day by day.the fairy story continued. almost every day something new was done. some new comfort or ornament appeared eachtime sara opened the door at night, until

in a short time the attic was a beautifullittle room full of all sorts of odd and luxurious things. the ugly walls were gradually entirelycovered with pictures and draperies, ingenious pieces of folding furnitureappeared, a bookshelf was hung up and filled with books, new comforts and conveniences appeared one by one, untilthere seemed nothing left to be desired. when sara went downstairs in the morning,the remains of the supper were on the table; and when she returned to the atticin the evening, the magician had removed them and left another nice little meal.

miss minchin was as harsh and insulting asever, miss amelia as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar and rude. sara was sent on errands in all weathers,and scolded and driven hither and thither; she was scarcely allowed to speak toermengarde and lottie; lavinia sneered at the increasing shabbiness of her clothes; and the other girls stared curiously at herwhen she appeared in the schoolroom. but what did it all matter while she wasliving in this wonderful mysterious story? it was more romantic and delightful thananything she had ever invented to comfort her starved young soul and save herselffrom despair.

sometimes, when she was scolded, she couldscarcely keep from smiling. "if you only knew!" she was saying toherself. "if you only knew!" the comfort and happiness she enjoyed weremaking her stronger, and she had them always to look forward to. if she came home from her errands wet andtired and hungry, she knew she would soon be warm and well fed after she had climbedthe stairs. during the hardest day she could occupyherself blissfully by thinking of what she should see when she opened the attic door,and wondering what new delight had been

prepared for her. in a very short time she began to look lessthin. color came into her cheeks, and her eyesdid not seem so much too big for her face. "sara crewe looks wonderfully well," missminchin remarked disapprovingly to her sister."yes," answered poor, silly miss amelia. "she is absolutely fattening. she was beginning to look like a littlestarved crow." "starved!" exclaimed miss minchin, angrily."there was no reason why she should look starved.

she always had plenty to eat!""of--of course," agreed miss amelia, humbly, alarmed to find that she had, asusual, said the wrong thing. "there is something very disagreeable inseeing that sort of thing in a child of her age," said miss minchin, with haughtyvagueness. "what--sort of thing?" miss amelia ventured. "it might almost be called defiance,"answered miss minchin, feeling annoyed because she knew the thing she resented wasnothing like defiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant term to use.

"the spirit and will of any other childwould have been entirely humbled and broken by--by the changes she has had to submitto. but, upon my word, she seems as littlesubdued as if--as if she were a princess." "do you remember," put in the unwise missamelia, "what she said to you that day in the schoolroom about what you would do ifyou found out that she was--" "no, i don't," said miss minchin. "don't talk nonsense."but she remembered very clearly indeed. very naturally, even becky was beginning tolook plumper and less frightened. she could not help it.

she had her share in the secret fairystory, too. she had two mattresses, two pillows, plentyof bed-covering, and every night a hot supper and a seat on the cushions by thefire. the bastille had melted away, the prisonersno longer existed. two comforted children sat in the midst ofdelights. sometimes sara read aloud from her books,sometimes she learned her own lessons, sometimes she sat and looked into the fireand tried to imagine who her friend could be, and wished she could say to him some ofthe things in her heart. then it came about that another wonderfulthing happened.

a man came to the door and left severalparcels. all were addressed in large letters, "tothe little girl in the right-hand attic." sara herself was sent to open the door andtake them in. she laid the two largest parcels on thehall table, and was looking at the address, when miss minchin came down the stairs andsaw her. "take the things to the young lady to whomthey belong," she said severely. "don't stand there staring at them."they belong to me," answered sara, quietly. "to you?" exclaimed miss minchin."what do you mean?"

"i don't know where they come from," saidsara, "but they are addressed to me. i sleep in the right-hand attic. becky has the other one."miss minchin came to her side and looked at the parcels with an excited expression."what is in them?" she demanded. "i don't know," replied sara. "open them," she ordered.sara did as she was told. when the packages were unfolded missminchin's countenance wore suddenly a singular expression. what she saw was pretty and comfortableclothing--clothing of different kinds:

shoes, stockings, and gloves, and a warmand beautiful coat. there were even a nice hat and an umbrella. they were all good and expensive things,and on the pocket of the coat was pinned a paper, on which were written these words:"to be worn every day. will be replaced by others when necessary." miss minchin was quite agitated.this was an incident which suggested strange things to her sordid mind. could it be that she had made a mistake,after all, and that the neglected child had some powerful though eccentric friend inthe background--perhaps some previously

unknown relation, who had suddenly traced her whereabouts, and chose to provide forher in this mysterious and fantastic way? relations were sometimes very odd--particularly rich old bachelor uncles, who did not care for having children near them. a man of that sort might prefer to overlookhis young relation's welfare at a distance. such a person, however, would be sure to becrotchety and hot-tempered enough to be easily offended. it would not be very pleasant if there weresuch a one, and he should learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, thescant food, and the hard work.

she felt very queer indeed, and veryuncertain, and she gave a side glance at sara. "well," she said, in a voice such as shehad never used since the little girl lost her father, "someone is very kind to you. as the things have been sent, and you areto have new ones when they are worn out, you may as well go and put them on and lookrespectable. after you are dressed you may comedownstairs and learn your lessons in the schoolroom.you need not go out on any more errands about half an hour afterward, when theschoolroom door opened and sara walked in,

the entire seminary was struck dumb."my word!" ejaculated jessie, jogging lavinia's elbow. "look at the princess sara!"everybody was looking, and when lavinia looked she turned quite red.it was the princess sara indeed. at least, since the days when she had beena princess, sara had never looked as she did now.she did not seem the sara they had seen come down the back stairs a few hours ago. she was dressed in the kind of frocklavinia had been used to envying her the possession of.it was deep and warm in color, and

beautifully made. her slender feet looked as they had donewhen jessie had admired them, and the hair, whose heavy locks had made her look ratherlike a shetland pony when it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tied backwith a ribbon. "perhaps someone has left her a fortune,"jessie whispered. "i always thought something would happen toher. she's so queer.""perhaps the diamond mines have suddenly appeared again," said lavinia, scathingly. "don't please her by staring at her in thatway, you silly thing."

"sara," broke in miss minchin's deep voice,"come and sit here." and while the whole schoolroom stared andpushed with elbows, and scarcely made any effort to conceal its excited curiosity,sara went to her old seat of honor, and bent her head over her books. that night, when she went to her room,after she and becky had eaten their supper she sat and looked at the fire seriouslyfor a long time. "are you making something up in your head,miss?" becky inquired with respectful softness. when sara sat in silence and looked intothe coals with dreaming eyes it generally

meant that she was making a new story.but this time she was not, and she shook her head. "no," she answered."i am wondering what i ought to do." becky stared--still respectfully.she was filled with something approaching reverence for everything sara did and said. "i can't help thinking about my friend,"sara explained. "if he wants to keep himself a secret, itwould be rude to try and find out who he is. but i do so want him to know how thankful iam to him--and how happy he has made me.

anyone who is kind wants to know whenpeople have been made happy. they care for that more than for beingthanked. i wish--i do wish--" she stopped short because her eyes at thatinstant fell upon something standing on a table in a corner. it was something she had found in the roomwhen she came up to it only two days before.it was a little writing-case fitted with paper and envelopes and pens and ink. "oh," she exclaimed, "why did i not thinkof that before?"

she rose and went to the corner and broughtthe case back to the fire. "i can write to him," she said joyfully,"and leave it on the table. then perhaps the person who takes thethings away will take it, too. i won't ask him anything. he won't mind my thanking him, i feelsure." so she wrote a note.this is what she said: i hope you will not think it is impolitethat i should write this note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret. please believe i do not mean to be impoliteor try to find out anything at all; only i

want to thank you for being so kind to me--so heavenly kind--and making everything like a fairy story. i am so grateful to you, and i am so happy--and so is becky. becky feels just as thankful as i do--it isall just as beautiful and wonderful to her as it is to me. we used to be so lonely and cold andhungry, and now--oh, just think what you have done for us!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 thelittle table, and in the evening it had been taken away with the other things; soshe knew the magician had received it, and she was happier for the thought. she was reading one of her new books tobecky just before they went to their respective beds, when her attention wasattracted by a sound at the skylight. when she looked up from her page she sawthat becky had heard the sound also, as she had turned her head to look and waslistening rather nervously. "something's there, miss," she whispered. "yes," said sara, slowly."it sounds--rather like a cat--trying to

get in."she left her chair and went to the skylight. it was a queer little sound she heard--likea soft scratching. she suddenly remembered something andlaughed. she remembered a quaint little intruder whohad made his way into the attic once before. she had seen him that very afternoon,sitting disconsolately on a table before a window in the indian gentleman's house. "suppose," she whispered in pleasedexcitement--"just suppose it was the monkey

who got away again.oh, i wish it was!" she climbed on a chair, very cautiouslyraised the skylight, and peeped out. it had been snowing all day, and on thesnow, quite near her, crouched a tiny, shivering figure, whose small black facewrinkled itself piteously at sight of her. "it is the monkey," she cried out. "he has crept out of the lascar's attic,and he saw the light." becky ran to her side."are you going to let him in, miss?" she said. "yes," sara answered joyfully."it's too cold for monkeys to be out.

they're delicate.i'll coax him in." she put a hand out delicately, speaking ina coaxing voice--as she spoke to the sparrows and to melchisedec--as if she weresome friendly little animal herself. "come along, monkey darling," she said. "i won't hurt you."he knew she would not hurt him. he knew it before she laid her soft,caressing little paw on him and drew him towards her. he had felt human love in the slim brownhands of ram dass, and he felt it in hers. he let her lift him through the skylight,and when he found himself in her arms he

cuddled up to her breast and looked up intoher face. "nice monkey! nice monkey!" she crooned, kissing hisfunny head. "oh, i do love little animal things." he was evidently glad to get to the fire,and when she sat down and held him on her knee he looked from her to becky withmingled interest and appreciation. "he is plain-looking, miss, ain't he?" saidbecky. "he looks like a very ugly baby," laughedsara. "i beg your pardon, monkey; but i'm gladyou are not a baby.

your mother couldn't be proud of you, andno one would dare to say you looked like any of your relations. oh, i do like you!"she leaned back in her chair and reflected. "perhaps he's sorry he's so ugly," shesaid, "and it's always on his mind. i wonder if he has a mind. monkey, my love, have you a mind?"but the monkey only put up a tiny paw and scratched his head."what shall you do with him?" becky asked. "i shall let him sleep with me tonight, andthen take him back to the indian gentleman

tomorrow.i am sorry to take you back, monkey; but you must go. you ought to be fondest of your own family;and i'm not a real relation." and when she went to bed she made him anest at her feet, and he curled up and slept there as if he were a baby and muchpleased with his quarters. a little princess by frances hodgson burnettchapter 17. "it is the child!" the next afternoon three members of thelarge family sat in the indian gentleman's library, doing their best to cheer him up.

they had been allowed to come in to performthis office because he had specially invited them. he had been living in a state of suspensefor some time, and today he was waiting for a certain event very anxiously.this event was the return of mr. carmichael from moscow. his stay there had been prolonged from weekto week. on his first arrival there, he had not beenable satisfactorily to trace the family he had gone in search of. when he felt at last sure that he had foundthem and had gone to their house, he had

been told that they were absent on ajourney. his efforts to reach them had beenunavailing, so he had decided to remain in moscow until their return.mr. carrisford sat in his reclining chair, and janet sat on the floor beside him. he was very fond of janet.nora had found a footstool, and donald was astride the tiger's head which ornamentedthe rug made of the animal's skin. it must be owned that he was riding itrather violently. "don't chirrup so loud, donald," janetsaid. "when you come to cheer an ill person upyou don't cheer him up at the top of your

voice. perhaps cheering up is too loud, mr.carrisford?" turning to the indian gentleman.but he only patted her shoulder. "no, it isn't," he answered. "and it keeps me from thinking too much.""i'm going to be quiet," donald shouted. "we'll all be as quiet as mice.""mice don't make a noise like that," said janet. donald made a bridle of his handkerchiefand bounced up and down on the tiger's head."a whole lot of mice might," he said

cheerfully. "a thousand mice might.""i don't believe fifty thousand mice would," said janet, severely; "and we haveto be as quiet as one mouse." mr. carrisford laughed and patted hershoulder again. "papa won't be very long now," she said."may we talk about the lost little girl?" "i don't think i could talk much aboutanything else just now," the indian gentleman answered, knitting his foreheadwith a tired look. "we like her so much," said nora. "we call her the little un-fairy princess.""why?" the indian gentleman inquired,

because the fancies of the large familyalways made him forget things a little. it was janet who answered. "it is because, though she is not exactly afairy, she will be so rich when she is found that she will be like a princess in afairy tale. we called her the fairy princess at first,but it didn't quite suit." "is it true," said nora, "that her papagave all his money to a friend to put in a mine that had diamonds in it, and then thefriend thought he had lost it all and ran away because he felt as if he was arobber?" "but he wasn't really, you know," put injanet, hastily.

the indian gentleman took hold of her handquickly. "no, he wasn't really," he said."i am sorry for the friend," janet said; "i can't help it. he didn't mean to do it, and it would breakhis heart. i am sure it would break his heart." "you are an understanding little woman,janet," the indian gentleman said, and he held her hand close. "did you tell mr. carrisford," donaldshouted again, "about the little-girl-who- isn't-a-beggar?did you tell him she has new nice clothes?

p'r'aps she's been found by somebody whenshe was lost." "there's a cab!" exclaimed janet."it's stopping before the door. it is papa!" they all ran to the windows to look out."yes, it's papa," donald proclaimed. "but there is no little girl."all three of them incontinently fled from the room and tumbled into the hall. it was in this way they always welcomedtheir father. they were to be heard jumping up and down,clapping their hands, and being caught up and kissed.

mr. carrisford made an effort to rise andsank back again. "it is no use," he said."what a wreck i am!" mr. carmichael's voice approached the door. "no, children," he was saying; "you maycome in after i have talked to mr. carrisford.go and play with ram dass." then the door opened and he came in. he looked rosier than ever, and brought anatmosphere of freshness and health with him; but his eyes were disappointed andanxious as they met the invalid's look of eager question even as they grasped eachother's hands.

"what news?"mr. carrisford asked. "the child the russian people adopted?" "she is not the child we are looking for,"was mr. carmichael's answer. "she is much younger than captain crewe'slittle girl. her name is emily carew. i have seen and talked to her.the russians were able to give me every detail."how wearied and miserable the indian gentleman looked! his hand dropped from mr. carmichael's."then the search has to be begun over

again," he said."that is all. please sit down." mr. carmichael took a seat.somehow, he had gradually grown fond of this unhappy man. he was himself so well and happy, and sosurrounded by cheerfulness and love, that desolation and broken health seemedpitifully unbearable things. if there had been the sound of just one gaylittle high-pitched voice in the house, it would have been so much less forlorn. and that a man should be compelled to carryabout in his breast the thought that he had

seemed to wrong and desert a child was nota thing one could face. "come, come," he said in his cheery voice;"we'll find her yet." "we must begin at once.no time must be lost," mr. carrisford fretted. "have you any new suggestion to make--anywhatsoever?" mr. carmichael felt rather restless, and herose and began to pace the room with a thoughtful, though uncertain face. "well, perhaps," he said."i don't know what it may be worth. the fact is, an idea occurred to me as iwas thinking the thing over in the train on

the journey from dover." "what was it?if she is alive, she is somewhere." "yes; she is somewhere.we have searched the schools in paris. let us give up paris and begin in london. that was my idea--to search london.""there are schools enough in london," said mr. carrisford.then he slightly started, roused by a recollection. "by the way, there is one next door.""then we will begin there. we cannot begin nearer than next door.""no," said carrisford.

"there is a child there who interests me;but she is not a pupil. and she is a little dark, forlorn creature,as unlike poor crewe as a child could be." perhaps the magic was at work again at thatvery moment--the beautiful magic. it really seemed as if it might be so. what was it that brought ram dass into theroom--even as his master spoke--salaaming respectfully, but with a scarcely concealedtouch of excitement in his dark, flashing eyes? "sahib," he said, "the child herself hascome--the child the sahib felt pity for. she brings back the monkey who had againrun away to her attic under the roof.

i have asked that she remain. it was my thought that it would please thesahib to see and speak with her." "who is she?" inquired mr. carmichael."god knows," mr. carrrisford answered. "she is the child i spoke of. a little drudge at the school."he waved his hand to ram dass, and addressed him."yes, i should like to see her. go and bring her in." then he turned to mr. carmichael."while you have been away," he explained, "i have been desperate.the days were so dark and long.

ram dass told me of this child's miseries,and together we invented a romantic plan to help her. i suppose it was a childish thing to do;but it gave me something to plan and think of. without the help of an agile, soft-footedoriental like ram dass, however, it could not have been done."then sara came into the room. she carried the monkey in her arms, and heevidently did not intend to part from her, if it could be helped. he was clinging to her and chattering, andthe interesting excitement of finding

herself in the indian gentleman's room hadbrought a flush to sara's cheeks. "your monkey ran away again," she said, inher pretty voice. "he came to my garret window last night,and i took him in because it was so cold. i would have brought him back if it had notbeen so late. i knew you were ill and might not like tobe disturbed." the indian gentleman's hollow eyes dwelt onher with curious interest. "that was very thoughtful of you," he said.sara looked toward ram dass, who stood near "shall i give him to the lascar?" sheasked. "how do you know he is a lascar?" said theindian gentleman, smiling a little.

"oh, i know lascars," sara said, handingover the reluctant monkey. "i was born in india." the indian gentleman sat upright sosuddenly, and with such a change of expression, that she was for a moment quitestartled. "you were born in india," he exclaimed,"were you? come here."and he held out his hand. sara went to him and laid her hand in his,as he seemed to want to take it. she stood still, and her green-gray eyesmet his wonderingly. something seemed to be the matter with him.

"you live next door?" he demanded."yes; i live at miss minchin's seminary." "but you are not one of her pupils?"a strange little smile hovered about sara's mouth. she hesitated a moment."i don't think i know exactly what i am," she replied."why not?" "at first i was a pupil, and a parlorboarder; but now--" "you were a pupil!what are you now?" the queer little sad smile was on sara'slips again. "i sleep in the attic, next to the scullerymaid," she said.

"i run errands for the cook--i do anythingshe tells me; and i teach the little ones their lessons." "question her, carmichael," said mr.carrisford, sinking back as if he had lost his strength."question her; i cannot." the big, kind father of the large familyknew how to question little girls. sara realized how much practice he had hadwhen he spoke to her in his nice, encouraging voice. "what do you mean by 'at first,' my child?"he inquired. "when i was first taken there by my papa.""where is your papa?"

"he died," said sara, very quietly. "he lost all his money and there was noneleft for me. there was no one to take care of me or topay miss minchin." "carmichael!" the indian gentleman criedout loudly. "carmichael!""we must not frighten her," mr. carmichael said aside to him in a quick, low voice. and he added aloud to sara, "so you weresent up into the attic, and made into a little drudge.that was about it, wasn't it?" "there was no one to take care of me," saidsara.

"there was no money; i belong to nobody.""how did your father lose his money?" the indian gentleman broke in breathlessly. "he did not lose it himself," saraanswered, wondering still more each moment. "he had a friend he was very fond of--hewas very fond of him. it was his friend who took his money. he trusted his friend too much."the indian gentleman's breath came more quickly."the friend might have meant to do no harm," he said. "it might have happened through a mistake."sara did not know how unrelenting her quiet

young voice sounded as she answered. if she had known, she would surely havetried to soften it for the indian gentleman's sake."the suffering was just as bad for my papa," she said. "it killed him.""what was your father's name?" the indian gentleman said."tell me." "his name was ralph crewe," sara answered,feeling startled. "captain crewe.he died in india." the haggard face contracted, and ram dasssprang to his master's side.

"carmichael," the invalid gasped, "it isthe child--the child!" for a moment sara thought he was going todie. ram dass poured out drops from a bottle,and held them to his lips. sara stood near, trembling a little. she looked in a bewildered way at mr.carmichael. "what child am i?" she faltered."he was your father's friend," mr. carmichael answered her. "don't be frightened.we have been looking for you for two years."sara put her hand up to her forehead, and

her mouth trembled. she spoke as if she were in a dream."and i was at miss minchin's all the while," she half whispered."just on the other side of the wall." a little princess by frances hodgson burnettchapter 18. "i tried not to be" it was pretty, comfortable mrs. carmichaelwho explained everything. she was sent for at once, and came acrossthe square to take sara into her warm arms and make clear to her all that hadhappened. the excitement of the totally unexpecteddiscovery had been temporarily almost

overpowering to mr. carrisford in his weakcondition. "upon my word," he said faintly to mr.carmichael, when it was suggested that the little girl should go into another room."i feel as if i do not want to lose sight of her." "i will take care of her," janet said, "andmamma will come in a few minutes." and it was janet who led her away."we're so glad you are found," she said. "you don't know how glad we are that youare found." donald stood with his hands in his pockets,and gazed at sara with reflecting and self- reproachful eyes.

"if i'd just asked what your name was wheni gave you my sixpence," he said, "you would have told me it was sara crewe, andthen you would have been found in a minute." then mrs. carmichael came in.she looked very much moved, and suddenly took sara in her arms and kissed her."you look bewildered, poor child," she "and it is not to be wondered at."sara could only think of one thing. "was he," she said, with a glance towardthe closed door of the library--"was he the wicked friend? oh, do tell me!"mrs. carmichael was crying as she kissed

her again. she felt as if she ought to be kissed veryoften because she had not been kissed for so long."he was not wicked, my dear," she answered. "he did not really lose your papa's money. he only thought he had lost it; and becausehe loved him so much his grief made him so ill that for a time he was not in his rightmind. he almost died of brain fever, and longbefore he began to recover your poor papa was dead.""and he did not know where to find me," murmured sara.

"and i was so near."somehow, she could not forget that she had been so near."he believed you were in school in france," mrs. carmichael explained. "and he was continually misled by falseclues. he has looked for you everywhere. when he saw you pass by, looking so sad andneglected, he did not dream that you were his friend's poor child; but because youwere a little girl, too, he was sorry for you, and wanted to make you happier. and he told ram dass to climb into yourattic window and try to make you

comfortable."sara gave a start of joy; her whole look changed. "did ram dass bring the things?" she criedout. "did he tell ram dass to do it?did he make the dream that came true?" "yes, my dear--yes! he is kind and good, and he was sorry foryou, for little lost sara crewe's sake." the library door opened and mr. carmichaelappeared, calling sara to him with a gesture. "mr. carrisford is better already," hesaid.

"he wants you to come to him."sara did not wait. when the indian gentleman looked at her asshe entered, he saw that her face was all alight. she went and stood before his chair, withher hands clasped together against her breast. "you sent the things to me," she said, in ajoyful emotional little voice, "the beautiful, beautiful things?you sent them!" "yes, poor, dear child, i did," he answeredher. he was weak and broken with long illnessand trouble, but he looked at her with the

look she remembered in her father's eyes--that look of loving her and wanting to take her in his arms. it made her kneel down by him, just as sheused to kneel by her father when they were the dearest friends and lovers in theworld. "then it is you who are my friend," shesaid; "it is you who are my friend!" and she dropped her face on his thin handand kissed it again and again. "the man will be himself again in threeweeks," mr. carmichael said aside to his wife."look at his face already." in fact, he did look changed.

here was the "little missus," and he hadnew things to think of and plan for already.in the first place, there was miss minchin. she must be interviewed and told of thechange which had taken place in the fortunes of her pupil.sara was not to return to the seminary at all. the indian gentleman was very determinedupon that point. she must remain where she was, and mr.carmichael should go and see miss minchin himself. "i am glad i need not go back," said sara."she will be very angry.

she does not like me; though perhaps it ismy fault, because i do not like her." but, oddly enough, miss minchin made itunnecessary for mr. carmichael to go to her, by actually coming in search of herpupil herself. she had wanted sara for something, and oninquiry had heard an astonishing thing. one of the housemaids had seen her stealout of the area with something hidden under her cloak, and had also seen her go up thesteps of the next door and enter the house. "what does she mean!" cried miss minchin tomiss amelia. "i don't know, i'm sure, sister," answeredmiss amelia. "unless she has made friends with himbecause he has lived in india."

"it would be just like her to thrustherself upon him and try to gain his sympathies in some such impertinentfashion," said miss minchin. "she must have been in the house for twohours. i will not allow such presumption.i shall go and inquire into the matter, and apologize for her intrusion." sara was sitting on a footstool close tomr. carrisford's knee, and listening to some of the many things he felt itnecessary to try to explain to her, when ram dass announced the visitor's arrival. sara rose involuntarily, and became ratherpale; but mr. carrisford saw that she stood

quietly, and showed none of the ordinarysigns of child terror. miss minchin entered the room with asternly dignified manner. she was correctly and well dressed, andrigidly polite. "i am sorry to disturb mr. carrisford," shesaid; "but i have explanations to make. i am miss minchin, the proprietress of theyoung ladies' seminary next door." the indian gentleman looked at her for amoment in silent scrutiny. he was a man who had naturally a rather hottemper, and he did not wish it to get too much the better of him. "so you are miss minchin?" he said."i am, sir."

"in that case," the indian gentlemanreplied, "you have arrived at the right time. my solicitor, mr. carmichael, was just onthe point of going to see you." mr. carmichael bowed slightly, and missminchin looked from him to mr. carrisford in amazement. "your solicitor!" she said."i do not understand. i have come here as a matter of duty. i have just discovered that you have beenintruded upon through the forwardness of one of my pupils--a charity pupil.i came to explain that she intruded without

my knowledge." she turned upon sara."go home at once," she commanded indignantly."you shall be severely punished. go home at once." the indian gentleman drew sara to his sideand patted her hand. "she is not going."miss minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her senses. "not going!" she repeated."no," said mr. carrisford. "she is not going home--if you give yourhouse that name.

her home for the future will be with me." miss minchin fell back in amazedindignation. "with you!with you sir! what does this mean?" "kindly explain the matter, carmichael,"said the indian gentleman; "and get it over as quickly as possible." and he made sara sit down again, and heldher hands in his--which was another trick of her papa's. then mr. carmichael explained--in thequiet, level-toned, steady manner of a man

who knew his subject, and all its legalsignificance, which was a thing miss minchin understood as a business woman, anddid not enjoy. "mr. carrisford, madam," he said, "was anintimate friend of the late captain crewe. he was his partner in certain largeinvestments. the fortune which captain crewe supposed hehad lost has been recovered, and is now in mr. carrisford's hands." "the fortune!" cried miss minchin; and shereally lost color as she uttered the exclamation."sara's fortune!" "it will be sara's fortune," replied mr.carmichael, rather coldly.

"it is sara's fortune now, in fact.certain events have increased it enormously. the diamond mines have retrievedthemselves." "the diamond mines!"miss minchin gasped out. if this was true, nothing so horrible, shefelt, had ever happened to her since she was born. "the diamond mines," mr. carmichaelrepeated, and he could not help adding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like smile,"there are not many princesses, miss minchin, who are richer than your littlecharity pupil, sara crewe, will be.

mr. carrisford has been searching for herfor nearly two years; he has found her at last, and he will keep her." after which he asked miss minchin to sitdown while he explained matters to her fully, and went into such detail as wasnecessary to make it quite clear to her that sara's future was an assured one, and that what had seemed to be lost was to berestored to her tenfold; also, that she had in mr. carrisford a guardian as well as afriend. miss minchin was not a clever woman, and inher excitement she was silly enough to make one desperate effort to regain what shecould not help seeing she had lost through

her worldly folly. "he found her under my care," sheprotested. "i have done everything for her.but for me she should have starved in the streets." here the indian gentleman lost his temper."as to starving in the streets," he said, "she might have starved more comfortablythere than in your attic." "captain crewe left her in my charge," missminchin argued. "she must return to it until she is of age.she can be a parlor boarder again. she must finish her education.

the law will interfere in my behalf.""come, come, miss minchin," mr. carmichael interposed, "the law will do nothing of thesort. if sara herself wishes to return to you, idare say mr. carrisford might not refuse to allow it.but that rests with sara." "then," said miss minchin, "i appeal tosara. i have not spoiled you, perhaps," she saidawkwardly to the little girl; "but you know that your papa was pleased with yourprogress. and--ahem--i have always been fond of you." sara's green-gray eyes fixed themselves onher with the quiet, clear look miss minchin

particularly disliked."have you, miss minchin?" she said. "i did not know that." miss minchin reddened and drew herself up."you ought to have known it," said she; "but children, unfortunately, never knowwhat is best for them. amelia and i always said you were thecleverest child in the school. will you not do your duty to your poor papaand come home with me?" sara took a step toward her and stoodstill. she was thinking of the day when she hadbeen told that she belonged to nobody, and was in danger of being turned into thestreet; she was thinking of the cold,

hungry hours she had spent alone with emilyand melchisedec in the attic. she looked miss minchin steadily in theface. "you know why i will not go home with you,miss minchin," she said; "you know quite well."a hot flush showed itself on miss minchin's hard, angry face. "you will never see your companions again,"she began. "i will see that ermengarde and lottie arekept away--" mr. carmichael stopped her with politefirmness. "excuse me," he said; "she will see anyoneshe wishes to see.

the parents of miss crewe's fellow-pupilsare not likely to refuse her invitations to visit her at her guardian's house.mr. carrisford will attend to that." it must be confessed that even miss minchinflinched. this was worse than the eccentric bacheloruncle who might have a peppery temper and be easily offended at the treatment of hisniece. a woman of sordid mind could easily believethat most people would not refuse to allow their children to remain friends with alittle heiress of diamond mines. and if mr. carrisford chose to tell certainof her patrons how unhappy sara crewe had been made, many unpleasant things mighthappen.

"you have not undertaken an easy charge,"she said to the indian gentleman, as she turned to leave the room; "you willdiscover that very soon. the child is neither truthful nor grateful. i suppose"--to sara--"that you feel nowthat you are a princess again." sara looked down and flushed a little,because she thought her pet fancy might not be easy for strangers--even nice ones--tounderstand at first. "i--tried not to be anything else," sheanswered in a low voice--"even when i was coldest and hungriest--i tried not to be." "now it will not be necessary to try," saidmiss minchin, acidly, as ram dass salaamed

her out of the room.she returned home and, going to her sitting room, sent at once for miss amelia. she sat closeted with her all the rest ofthe afternoon, and it must be admitted that poor miss amelia passed through more thanone bad quarter of an hour. she shed a good many tears, and mopped hereyes a good deal. one of her unfortunate remarks almostcaused her sister to snap her head entirely off, but it resulted in an unusual manner. "i'm not as clever as you, sister," shesaid, "and i am always afraid to say things to you for fear of making you angry.perhaps if i were not so timid it would be

better for the school and for both of us. i must say i've often thought it would havebeen better if you had been less severe on sara crewe, and had seen that she wasdecently dressed and more comfortable. i know she was worked too hard for a childof her age, and i know she was only half fed--""how dare you say such a thing!" exclaimed miss minchin. "i don't know how i dare," miss ameliaanswered, with a kind of reckless courage; "but now i've begun i may as well finish,whatever happens to me. the child was a clever child and a goodchild--and she would have paid you for any

kindness you had shown her.but you didn't show her any. the fact was, she was too clever for you,and you always disliked her for that reason.she used to see through us both--" "amelia!" gasped her infuriated elder,looking as if she would box her ears and knock her cap off, as she had often done tobecky. but miss amelia's disappointment had madeher hysterical enough not to care what occurred next."she did! she did!" she cried. "she saw through us both.

she saw that you were a hard-hearted,worldly woman, and that i was a weak fool, and that we were both of us vulgar and meanenough to grovel on our knees for her money, and behave ill to her because it was taken from her--though she behaved herselflike a little princess even when she was a beggar.she did--she did--like a little princess!" and her hysterics got the better of thepoor woman, and she began to laugh and cry both at once, and rock herself backward andforward. "and now you've lost her," she criedwildly; "and some other school will get her and her money; and if she were like anyother child she'd tell how she's been

treated, and all our pupils would be takenaway and we should be ruined. and it serves us right; but it serves youright more than it does me, for you are a hard woman, maria minchin, you're a hard,selfish, worldly woman!" and she was in danger of making so muchnoise with her hysterical chokes and gurgles that her sister was obliged to goto her and apply salts and sal volatile to quiet her, instead of pouring forth herindignation at her audacity. and from that time forward, it may bementioned, the elder miss minchin actually began to stand a little in awe of a sisterwho, while she looked so foolish, was evidently not quite so foolish as she

looked, and might, consequently, break outand speak truths people did not want to hear. that evening, when the pupils were gatheredtogether before the fire in the schoolroom, as was their custom before going to bed,ermengarde came in with a letter in her hand and a queer expression on her roundface. it was queer because, while it was anexpression of delighted excitement, it was combined with such amazement as seemed tobelong to a kind of shock just received. "what is the matter?" cried two or threevoices at once. "is it anything to do with the row that hasbeen going on?" said lavinia, eagerly.

"there has been such a row in missminchin's room, miss amelia has had something like hysterics and has had to goto bed." ermengarde answered them slowly as if shewere half stunned. "i have just had this letter from sara,"she said, holding it out to let them see what a long letter it was. "from sara!"every voice joined in that exclamation. "where is she?" almost shrieked jessie."next door," said ermengarde, "with the indian gentleman." "where?where?

has she been sent away?does miss minchin know? was the row about that? why did she write?tell us! tell us!"there was a perfect babel, and lottie began to cry plaintively. ermengarde answered them slowly as if shewere half plunged out into what, at the moment, seemed the most important and self-explaining thing. "there were diamond mines," she saidstoutly; "there were!" open mouths and open eyes confronted her."they were real," she hurried on.

"it was all a mistake about them. something happened for a time, and mr.carrisford thought they were ruined--" "who is mr. carrisford?" shouted jessie."the indian gentleman. and captain crewe thought so, too--and hedied; and mr. carrisford had brain fever and ran away, and he almost died.and he did not know where sara was. and it turned out that there were millionsand millions of diamonds in the mines; and half of them belong to sara; and theybelonged to her when she was living in the attic with no one but melchisedec for afriend, and the cook ordering her about. and mr. carrisford found her thisafternoon, and he has got her in his home--

and she will never come back--and she willbe more a princess than she ever was--a hundred and fifty thousand times more. and i am going to see her tomorrowafternoon. there!" even miss minchin herself could scarcelyhave controlled the uproar after this; and though she heard the noise, she did nottry. she was not in the mood to face anythingmore than she was facing in her room, while miss amelia was weeping in bed. she knew that the news had penetrated thewalls in some mysterious manner, and that

every servant and every child would go tobed talking about it. so until almost midnight the entireseminary, realizing somehow that all rules were laid aside, crowded round ermengardein the schoolroom and heard read and re- read the letter containing a story which was quite as wonderful as any sara herselfhad ever invented, and which had the amazing charm of having happened to saraherself and the mystic indian gentleman in the very next house. becky, who had heard it also, managed tocreep up stairs earlier than usual. she wanted to get away from people and goand look at the little magic room once

more. she did not know what would happen to it.it was not likely that it would be left to miss minchin.it would be taken away, and the attic would be bare and empty again. glad as she was for sara's sake, she wentup the last flight of stairs with a lump in her throat and tears blurring her sight. there would be no fire tonight, and no rosylamp; no supper, and no princess sitting in the glow reading or telling stories--noprincess! she choked down a sob as she pushed theattic door open, and then she broke into a

low cry. the lamp was flushing the room, the firewas blazing, the supper was waiting; and ram dass was standing smiling into herstartled face. "missee sahib remembered," he said. "she told the sahib all.she wished you to know the good fortune which has befallen her.behold a letter on the tray. she has written. she did not wish that you should go tosleep unhappy. the sahib commands you to come to himtomorrow.

you are to be the attendant of misseesahib. tonight i take these things back over theroof." and having said this with a beaming face,he made a little salaam and slipped through the skylight with an agile silentness ofmovement which showed becky how easily he had done it before. a little princess by frances hodgson burnettchapter 19. anne never had such joy reigned in the nurseryof the large family. never had they dreamed of such delights asresulted from an intimate acquaintance with

the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. the mere fact of her sufferings andadventures made her a priceless possession. everybody wanted to be told over and overagain the things which had happened to her. when one was sitting by a warm fire in abig, glowing room, it was quite delightful to hear how cold it could be in an attic. it must be admitted that the attic wasrather delighted in, and that its coldness and bareness quite sank into insignificancewhen melchisedec was remembered, and one heard about the sparrows and things one could see if one climbed on the table andstuck one's head and shoulders out of the

of course the thing loved best was thestory of the banquet and the dream which was true.sara told it for the first time the day after she had been found. several members of the large family came totake tea with her, and as they sat or curled up on the hearth-rug she told thestory in her own way, and the indian gentleman listened and watched her. when she had finished she looked up at himand put her hand on his knee. "that is my part," she said."now won't you tell your part of it, uncle tom?"

he had asked her to call him always "uncletom." "i don't know your part yet, and it must bebeautiful." so he told them how, when he sat alone, illand dull and irritable, ram dass had tried to distract him by describing the passersby, and there was one child who passed oftener than any one else; he had begun to be interested in her--partly perhapsbecause he was thinking a great deal of a little girl, and partly because ram dasshad been able to relate the incident of his visit to the attic in chase of the monkey. he had described its cheerless look, andthe bearing of the child, who seemed as if

she was not of the class of those who weretreated as drudges and servants. bit by bit, ram dass had made discoveriesconcerning the wretchedness of her life. he had found out how easy a matter it wasto climb across the few yards of roof to the skylight, and this fact had been thebeginning of all that followed. "sahib," he had said one day, "i couldcross the slates and make the child a fire when she is out on some errand. when she returned, wet and cold, to find itblazing, she would think a magician had done it." the idea had been so fanciful that mr.carrisford's sad face had lighted with a

smile, and ram dass had been so filled withrapture that he had enlarged upon it and explained to his master how simple it wouldbe to accomplish numbers of other things. he had shown a childlike pleasure andinvention, and the preparations for the carrying out of the plan had filled many aday with interest which would otherwise have dragged wearily. on the night of the frustrated banquet ramdass had kept watch, all his packages being in readiness in the attic which was hisown; and the person who was to help him had waited with him, as interested as himselfin the odd adventure. ram dass had been lying flat upon theslates, looking in at the skylight, when

the banquet had come to its disastrousconclusion; he had been sure of the profoundness of sara's wearied sleep; and then, with a dark lantern, he had creptinto the room, while his companion remained outside and handed the things to him. when sara had stirred ever so faintly, ramdass had closed the lantern-slide and lain flat upon the floor. these and many other exciting things thechildren found out by asking a thousand questions."i am so glad," sara said. "i am so glad it was you who were myfriend!"

there never were such friends as these twobecame. somehow, they seemed to suit each other ina wonderful way. the indian gentleman had never had acompanion he liked quite as much as he liked sara. in a month's time he was, as mr. carmichaelhad prophesied he would be, a new man. he was always amused and interested, and hebegan to find an actual pleasure in the possession of the wealth he had imaginedthat he loathed the burden of. there were so many charming things to planfor sara. there was a little joke between them thathe was a magician, and it was one of his

pleasures to invent things to surprise her. she found beautiful new flowers growing inher room, whimsical little gifts tucked under pillows, and once, as they sattogether in the evening, they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on the door, and when sara went to find out what it was,there stood a great dog--a splendid russian boarhound--with a grand silver and goldcollar bearing an inscription. "i am boris," it read; "i serve theprincess sara." there was nothing the indian gentlemanloved more than the recollection of the little princess in rags and tatters.

the afternoons in which the large family,or ermengarde and lottie, gathered to rejoice together were very delightful. but the hours when sara and the indiangentleman sat alone and read or talked had a special charm of their own.during their passing many interesting things occurred. one evening, mr. carrisford, looking upfrom his book, noticed that his companion had not stirred for some time, but satgazing into the fire. "what are you 'supposing,' sara?" he asked. sara looked up, with a bright color on hercheek.

"i was supposing," she said; "i wasremembering that hungry day, and a child i saw." "but there were a great many hungry days,"said the indian gentleman, with rather a sad tone in his voice."which hungry day was it?" "i forgot you didn't know," said sara. "it was the day the dream came true."then she told him the story of the bun shop, and the fourpence she picked up outof the sloppy mud, and the child who was hungrier than herself. she told it quite simply, and in as fewwords as possible; but somehow the indian

gentleman found it necessary to shade hiseyes with his hand and look down at the carpet. "and i was supposing a kind of plan," shesaid, when she had finished. "i was thinking i should like to dosomething." "what was it?" said mr. carrisford, in alow tone. "you may do anything you like to do,princess." "i was wondering," rather hesitated sara--"you know, you say i have so much money--i was wondering if i could go to see the bun-woman, and tell her that if, when hungry children--particularly on those dreadful

days--come and sit on the steps, or look inat the window, she would just call them in and give them something to eat, she mightsend the bills to me. could i do that?" "you shall do it tomorrow morning," saidthe indian gentleman. "thank you," said sara. "you see, i know what it is to be hungry,and it is very hard when one cannot even pretend it away.""yes, yes, my dear," said the indian gentleman. "yes, yes, it must be.try to forget it.

come and sit on this footstool near myknee, and only remember you are a princess." "yes," said sara, smiling; "and i can givebuns and bread to the populace." and she went and sat on the stool, and theindian gentleman (he used to like her to call him that, too, sometimes) drew hersmall dark head down on his knee and stroked her hair. the next morning, miss minchin, in lookingout of her window, saw the things she perhaps least enjoyed seeing. the indian gentleman's carriage, with itstall horses, drew up before the door of the

next house, and its owner and a littlefigure, warm with soft, rich furs, descended the steps to get into it. the little figure was a familiar one, andreminded miss minchin of days in the past. it was followed by another as familiar--thesight of which she found very irritating. it was becky, who, in the character ofdelighted attendant, always accompanied her young mistress to her carriage, carryingwraps and belongings. already becky had a pink, round face. a little later the carriage drew up beforethe door of the baker's shop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, just asthe bun-woman was putting a tray of

smoking-hot buns into the window. when sara entered the shop the woman turnedand looked at her, and, leaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. for a moment she looked at sara very hardindeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up."i'm sure that i remember you, miss," she "and yet--""yes," said sara; "once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and--""and you gave five of 'em to a beggar child," the woman broke in on her. "i've always remembered it.i couldn't make it out at first."

she turned round to the indian gentlemanand spoke her next words to him. "i beg your pardon, sir, but there's notmany young people that notices a hungry face in that way; and i've thought of itmany a time. excuse the liberty, miss,"--to sara--"butyou look rosier and--well, better than you did that--that--""i am better, thank you," said sara. "and--i am much happier--and i have come toask you to do something for me." "me, miss!" exclaimed the bun-woman,smiling cheerfully. "why, bless you! yes, miss.what can i do?"

and then sara, leaning on the counter, madeher little proposal concerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the buns. the woman watched her, and listened with anastonished face. "why, bless me!" she said again when shehad heard it all; "it'll be a pleasure to me to do it. i am a working-woman myself and cannotafford to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on every side;but, if you'll excuse me, i'm bound to say i've given away many a bit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinkingof you--an' how wet an' cold you was, an'

how hungry you looked; an' yet you gaveaway your hot buns as if you was a the indian gentleman smiled involuntarilyat this, and sara smiled a little, too, remembering what she had said to herselfwhen she put the buns down on the ravenous child's ragged lap. "she looked so hungry," she said."she was even hungrier than i was." "she was starving," said the woman. "many's the time she's told me of it since--how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing at her poor younginsides." "oh, have you seen her since then?"exclaimed sara.

"do you know where she is?""yes, i do," answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly than ever. "why, she's in that there back room, miss,an' has been for a month; an' a decent, well-meanin' girl she's goin' to turn out,an' such a help to me in the shop an' in the kitchen as you'd scarce believe,knowin' how she's lived." she stepped to the door of the little backparlor and spoke; and the next minute a girl came out and followed her behind thecounter. and actually it was the beggar-child, cleanand neatly clothed, and looking as if she had not been hungry for a long time.

she looked shy, but she had a nice face,now that she was no longer a savage, and the wild look had gone from her eyes. she knew sara in an instant, and stood andlooked at her as if she could never look enough. "you see," said the woman, "i told her tocome when she was hungry, and when she'd come i'd give her odd jobs to do; an' ifound she was willing, and somehow i got to like her; and the end of it was, i've given her a place an' a home, and she helps me,an' behaves well, an' is as thankful as a girl can be.her name's anne.

she has no other." the children stood and looked at each otherfor a few minutes; and then sara took her hand out of her muff and held it out acrossthe counter, and anne took it, and they looked straight into each other's eyes. "i am so glad," sara said."and i have just thought of something. perhaps mrs. brown will let you be the oneto give the buns and bread to the children. perhaps you would like to do it because youknow what it is to be hungry, too." "yes, miss," said the girl. and, somehow, sara felt as if sheunderstood her, though she said so little,

and only stood still and looked and lookedafter her as she went out of the shop with the indian gentleman, and they got into thecarriage and drove away.