A Little Princess, Part 10 of 15

Before we get started tonight, I wanted to let you in on a little secret. For the best sleep, there's nothing better than the sleepy bookshelf's premium feed. You'll have ad-free access to the entire catalogue, so you don't have to listen to things like this. Plus exclusive bonus stories in between our longer books. Follow the link in the show notes to learn more and start your 7-day free trial tonight. Good evening and welcome to the sleepy bookshelf, where we put down our worries from the day and pick up a good book. I'm your host, Elizabeth. Thank you for being here with us this evening. Tonight we are continuing with a little princess. But before that, let's take a moment to prepare for a restful sleep. Wherever you are, notice how nice it feels to close your eyes after a long day. Begin to breathe nice and evenly, in through your nose for four, and out through your mouth for four. With each breath, you are calming your body and mind. You are melting away the stresses of the day and slowing down. Ready for sleep? Focus on where you are right now, and release any thoughts that might creep up about today or tomorrow. Always come back to your breath. And when you are ready, feel free to drift your focus to the sound of my voice as I recap our last episode. Sarah would try to sneak away from her work downstairs whenever she could tell there was a beautiful sunset happening, to go and look out of her window in the attic and watch the sky. One of these days, she turned to find another person, finally looking out of the next door window. But this person also had a monkey on his shoulder, which proceeded to run across the slates, jump on Sarah's shoulder, and hop down into her room. The man reminded Sarah of the laskers from her childhood, and she spoke to him in Hindustani. He introduced himself as Ram Das, and requested permission to come across and catch the cheeky monkey. Before he left, he made a gracious thanks and apologized to her as if he were addressing a princess, which renewed her determination to continue to act like a princess, even in her current circumstance. She heard gossip downstairs that the unwell man next door had come back from India with a brain fever after losing all his money in a diamond mine, just like her father. This made Sarah begin to crow very fond of him, and she would stop outside his house and wish him well from the street. Inside, Mr. Karasved was in desperate search of a little girl, belonging to his friend who had passed away in India. The brain fever made it difficult for him to remember many key details, but his determination was becoming more steadfast by the day. Tonight, Sarah enters into a cold winter at the seminary. She just lie back and relax as I turn to the next pages of A Little Princess. Chapter 13 One of the Populus The winter was a wretched one. There were days on which Sarah tramped through snow when she went on her errands. There were worse days when the snow melted and combined itself with mud to form slush. There were others when the fog was so thick that the lamps in the street were lighted all day, and London looked as it had looked the afternoon several years ago when the cab had driven through the thoroughfares with Sarah tucked up on its seat, leaning against her father's shoulder. On such days, the windows of the house of the large family always looked delightfully cosy and alluring, and the study in which the Indian gentlemen sat glowed with warmth and rich colour. But the attic was dismal beyond words. There were no longer sunsets, all sunrises to look at, and scarcely ever any stars it seemed to Sarah. The clouds hung low over the skylight and were either grey or mud colour or dropping heavy rain. At four o'clock in the afternoon, even when there was no special fog, the daylight was at an end. If it was necessary to go to her attic for anything, Sarah was obliged to light a candle. The women in the kitchen were depressed, and that made them more ill-tempered than ever. Becky was driven like a little slave. To aunt for you, Miss? She said hoarsely to Sarah one night when she had crept into the attic. To aunt for you and the Bastille and being a prisoner in the next cell, I should die. That there does seem real now, doesn't it? The Mrs is more like the head jailer every day she lives. I can just see them big keys as you say she carries. Cook? She's like one of the under-jailers? Tell me some more, please, Miss. Tell me about the subterranean passage we've dug under the walls. I'll tell you something warmer, shivered Sarah. Get your coverlet and wrap it round you, and I'll get mine. I'll put the hand we'll huddle close together on the bed, and I'll tell you about the Tropical Forest, where the Indian gentleman's monkey used to live. When I see him sitting on the table near the window and looking out into the street with that mournful expression, I always feel sure he's thinking about the Tropical Forest, where he used to swing by his tail from coconut trees. I wonder who caught him, and if he left a family behind who had depended on him for coconuts. That is warmer, Miss, said Becky, gratefully. But some ways, even the Bastille is sort of heating when you get to telling about it. That's because it makes you think of something else. Said Sarah, wrapping the coverlet round her until only a small, dark face was to be seen looking out of it. I've noticed this. What you have to do with your mind when your body is miserable is to make it think of something else. Can you do it, Miss? Faulted Becky, regarding her with admiring eyes. Sarah knitted her brows a moment. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can't. She said stoutly. But when I can, I'm all right. What I believe is that we always could, if we practiced enough. I've been practicing a good deal lately, and it's beginning to be easier than it used to be. Things are horrible. Just horrible. I think as hard as ever I can of being a princess. I say to myself, I am a princess, and I am a fairy one. And because I am a fairy, nothing can hurt me or make me uncomfortable. You don't know how it makes you forget. With a laugh. She had many opportunities of making her mind think of something else. And many opportunities of proving herself, whether or not she was a princess. But one of the strongest tests she was ever put to came on a certain dreadful day, which she often thought afterward would never quite fade out of her memory, even in the years to come. For several days it had rained continuously. The streets were chilly and sloppy and full of dreary, cold mist. There was mud everywhere. Sticky, London mud. And over everything the pool of drizzle and fog. Of course there were several long and tiresome errands to be done. There always were on days like this. And Sarah was sent out again and again until her shabby clothes were damp through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and absurd than ever. And her downtrodden shoes were so wet that they could not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner because Miss Minchin had chosen to punish her. She was so cold and hungry and tired that her face began to have a pinched look. And now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her with sudden sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, trying to make her mind think of something else. It was very necessary, really. Her way of doing it was to pretend and suppose with all the strength that was left in her. But really this time it was harder than she had ever found it. And once or twice she thought it almost made her more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately and as the muddy water squelched through her broken shoes and the wind seemed trying to drag her thin jacket from her. She talked to herself as she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move her lips. Suppose I had dry clothes on, she thought. Suppose I had good shoes and a long thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella and suppose, suppose just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot buns, I should find sixpence which belonged to nobody. Suppose if I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eat them all without stopping. Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sarah. She had to cross the street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud was dreadful, she almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not save herself much. Only in picking her way she had to look down at her feet and the mud. She had been looking down just as she reached the pavement. She saw something shining in the gutter. It was actually a piece of silver, a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it, a four penny piece. In one second it was in her cold little red and blue hand. She gasped. It is true, it is true. And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the shop directly facing her. And it was a baker's shop and a cheerful, stout, motherly woman with rosy cheeks was putting into the window a tray of delicious, newly baked hot buns fresh from the oven. Large, plump, shiny buns with currents in them. It almost made Sarah feel faint for a few seconds. The shock and the sight of the buns and the delightful odours of warm bread floating up through the baker's cellar window. She knew she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. It had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was completely lost in the stream of passing people who crowded and jostled each other all day long. But how go and ask the baker woman if she has lost anything? She said to herself rather faintly. So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step. And as she did so, she saw something that made her stop. It was a little figure, more forlorn even than herself. A little figure which was not much more than a bundle of rags from which small, bare, red, muddy feet peeped out, only because the rags with which their owner was trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared a shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face with big, hollow, hungry eyes. Sarah knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a sudden sympathy. This, she said to herself with a little sigh, is one of the populace, and she is hungrier than I am. The child, this one of the populace, stared up at Sarah and shuffled herself aside a little so as to give her room to pass. She was used to being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman chanced to see her, he would tell her to move on. Sarah clutched her little four-penny piece and hesitated for a few seconds. Then she spoke to her. Are you hungry? She asked. The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. Ain't I just? She said in a hoarse voice. Just ain't I? Haven't you had any dinner? Said Sarah. Her dinner? More hoarsely still and with more shuffling. Nor yet no breakfast. Nor yet no supper. No nothing. Since when? Asked Sarah. To know. Never got nothing today. Nowhere. Have arxed and arxed. Just to look at her made Sarah more hungry and faint. But those queer little thoughts were at work in her brain. And she was talking to herself, though she was sick at heart. If I am a princess, she was saying. If I'm a princess, when they were poor and driven from their thrones, they always shared with the populace. Even if they met one poorer and hungrier than themselves, they always shared. Buns are a penny each. If it had been six pence I could have eaten six. It won't be enough for either of us, but it will be better than nothing. Wait a minute. She said to the beggar child. She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled deliciously. The woman was just going to put more hot buns into the window. If you please. Said Sarah. Have you lost four pence? A silver four pence? And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. The woman looked at it. Then at her. At her intense little face. And draggled, once fine clothes. Bless us. No. She answered. Did you find it? Yes. Said Sarah. In the gutter. Keep it then. Said the woman. It may have been there for a week. Goodness knows you lost it. You could never find out. I know that. Said Sarah. But I thought I would ask you. Not many would. Said the woman. Looking puzzled and interested and good-natured all at once. Do you want to buy something? She added as she saw Sarah glance at the buns. Four buns, if you please. Said Sarah. Those are to penny each. The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sarah noticed that she put in six. I said four, if you please. She exclaimed. I have only four pence. I'll throw in two for make-wait. Said the woman with her good-natured look. I dare say you can eat him sometime. Aren't you angry? A mist rose before Sarah's eyes. Yes, she answered. I am very hungry. And I much obliged to you for your kindness. And? She was going to add. There is a child outside who is hungrier than I am. But just at that moment, two or three customers came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry. So she could only thank the woman again and go out. The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step. She looked frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring straight before her with a stupid look of suffering. And Sarah saw her suddenly draw the back of her roughened black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears, which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her lids. She was muttering to herself. Sarah opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had already warmed her own cold hands a little. See? She said, putting the bun in the ragged lap. This is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry. The child started and stared up at her. As if such sudden, amazing good luck almost frightened her. Then she snatched up the bun and began to cram it into her mouth with great, wolfish bites. My, my! Sarah heard her say hoarsely in wild delight. Oh, my! Sarah took out three more buns and put them down. The sound in the horse, ravenous voice, was awful. She is hungrier than I am, she said to herself. She's starving. But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. I am not starving, she said, and she put down the fifth. The little, ravening London savage was still snatching and devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she had ever been taught politeness, which she had not. She was only a poor, little wild animal. Goodbye, said Sarah. When she reached the other side of the street, she looked back. The child had a bun in each hand and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch her. Sarah gave her a little nod. Then the child, after another stare, a curious, lingering stare, jerked her shaggy head in response. And until Sarah was out of sight, she did not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun. At that moment, the baker woman looked out of her shop window. Well, I never, she exclaimed. If that young woman hasn't given her buns to a beggar child, it wasn't because she didn't want them either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she did it for. She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke to the beggar child. Who gave you those buns? She asked her. The child nodded her head towards Sarah's vanishing figure. What did she say? Inquired the woman. Oks me if I was hungry. Replied the hoarse voice. What did you say? Said I was just. And as she came and got the buns and gave them to you, did she? The child nodded. How many? Five. The woman thought it over. Left just one for herself. She said in a lower voice. She could have eaten the old six. I saw it in her eyes. She looked after the little draggled far away figure and felt more disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a day. I wish she hadn't gone so quick. She said. I'm blessed if she shouldn't have had a dozen. Then she turned to the child. Are you angry yet? She said. I'm honest, hungry. Was the answer. But take mad as it was. Coming here. Said the woman and she held the shop door open. The child got up and shuffled in and was invited into a warm place full of bread. Seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to happen. She did not care even. Get yourself warm. Said the woman pointing to a fire in the tiny back room. And look here. When you are hard up for a bit of bread, you can come in here and ask for it. I'm blessed if I won't give it to you for that young one's sake. Sarah found some comfort in her remaining bun. At all events it was very hot and it was better than nothing. As she walked along, she broke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer. I suppose it was a magic bun. She said. And a bite was as much as a whole dinner. I should be overeating myself if I went on like this. It was dark when she reached the square where the select seminary was situated. The lights in the houses were all lighted. The blinds were not yet drawn in the windows of the room where she nearly always caught glimpses of members of the large family. Frequently at this hour she could see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a big chair with a small swarm around him. Talking. Laughing. Perching on the arms of his seat or on his knees or leaning against them. This evening the swarm was about him but he was not seated. On the contrary there was a good deal of excitement going on. It was evident that a journey was to be taken and it was Mr. Montmorency who was to take it. A brown stood before the door and a big portmanteau had been strapped upon it. The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on to their father. The pretty rosy mother was standing near him talking as if she was asking final questions. Sarah paused a moment to see the little ones lifted up and kissed and the bigger ones bent over and kissed also. I wonder if he will stay away long. She thought. The portmanteau is rather big. Oh dear, how they will miss him. I shall miss him myself even though he doesn't know I am alive. When the door opened she moved away remembering the sixpence but she saw the traveller come out and stand against the background of the warmly lighted hall. The other children still hovering about him. Will Moscow be covered with snow? said the little girl, Janet. Will there be ice everywhere? Shall you drive in a drusky? cried another. Shall you see the Tsar? I will write and tell you all about it. He answered laughing and I will send you pictures of mosques and things. Run to the house. It is a hideous damp night. I would rather stay with you than go to Moscow. Good night, good night, duckies. God bless you. And he ran down the steps and jumped into the braum. If you find the little girl, give her our love. shouted Guy Clarence, jumping up and down on the door mat. Then they went in and shut the door. Did you see? said Janet to Nora as they went back to the room. The little girl who is not a beggar was passing. She looked all cold and wet and I saw her turn her head over her shoulder and look at us. Mama says her clothes always look as if they've been given her by someone who was quite rich. Someone who only let her have them because they were too shabby to wear. The people at the school always send her out on errands on the horridest days and nights there are. Sarah crossed the square to Miss Mention's area steps. Feeling faint and shaky. I wonder who the little girl is. She thought. The little girl he is going to look for. And as she went down the area steps, lugging her basket and finding it very heavy indeed. As the father of the large family drove quickly on his way to the station to take the train which was to carry him to Moscow. Where he was going to make his best effort to search for the lost little daughter of Captain Crew. 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