A Little Princess, Part 3 of 15

Good evening. Thank you so much for being here. The sleepy bookshelf wouldn't be possible without your support. Help us keep the show going and enjoy all of our episodes ad-free by joining our premium feed. You'll also get exclusive bonus content. There's a link in the show notes if you'd like to learn more. In a world of noise and uncertainty, IG is the investment platform that backs you. Take a reflexable stocks ISO which gives you the freedom to withdraw funds anytime and replace them in the same tax year all without losing your £20,000 tax-free allowance. And if that's not enough, pay no commission on your stock shares and ETFs when you invest with IG. IG. Trade. Invest. Progress. Your capital's at risk. Other fees may apply. Tax treatment depends on individual circumstances and is subject to change. We're having a birthday party at the Smith's Toy Superstore on the Old Kent Road this Saturday featuring all your favorite characters, face painters and more. So join our celebrations this Saturday from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. at Smith's Toy Superstore, Southernwood Retail Park, Old Kent Road, London. Where should we go? Where should we go? You really want to go to Smith's Toy Superstore? Aisha owns a bistro. She loves it but the admin, not so much. Luckily her Monzo Business Bank account takes some of the strain, like expensing, with real-time visibility and spend limits all managed in one app. So she's free to cook up a storm without having to make a meal of the admin. Make the switch and join over 800,000 other UK businesses already banking with us. Search Monzo Business today. Team plan starts from £25 a month. UK soul traders are limited company directors only. Teas and seas apply. In case you didn't know our company, Slumber Studios also has a sleep app called Slumber. With well over 1,000 episodes, it has every kind of sleep-inducing content you might want. From stories, meditations, audiobooks and history, to soundscapes and music. New episodes are added each week too. You can even search by narrator and listen to episodes narrated by me that you may never have heard before on the Sleepy Bookshelf. There are other unique features in Slumber too, like the ability to add and adjust background sounds to create the perfect mix to match your preferences. So I highly recommend you give Slumber a try. It's available in the App Store and Google Play and as a listener of the Sleepy Bookshelf, you can unlock all of the content in the app, free for one month. Just go to slumber.fm for www.slumber.fm.com to get instant access to all of the content in Slumber, free for one month. 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 Elizabeth, your host. Thank you so much for joining me here this evening. Tonight we are continuing with a little princess, but before we do, find a comfortable position. Allow your body to feel supported. Gently close your eyes and take a slow, deep breath in. Now release it and let go of any tension. Beginning with your feet. Feel them melt into the surface beneath you. Let this relaxation move up through your legs, easing any tightness there. Breathe deeply. Feeling your abdomen rise and fall with each breath. Letting your chest and shoulders soften. Now focus on your hands and arms. Let them rest comfortably, releasing any stress. And with every breath, feel your body becoming lighter, your mind quieter. Picture a calm and soothing image. Maybe a clear night sky or a calm sea. And feel safe and peaceful. With each breath, you are closer to sleep, ready to rest and rejuvenate for the day ahead. Sarah sat in the schoolroom on the first morning and was introduced to the rest of her school by Miss Mention. The headmistress told her that she presumed, as she had a French maid, that her father wished Sarah to learn French and refused to listen when Sarah tried to explain that her mother was French. And she had grown up with her father speaking to her in that language since she was a baby. Miss Mention was sorely embarrassed when Monsieur Defage arrived and Sarah explained herself to him. The display shocked Miss Ermengarde St John, who is considered the stupidest girl in the school, despite the superior intellect of her father. Sarah noticed how the others loved as she struggled through her French pronunciations, and she made up her mind to befriend her. Ermengarde was stunned when Sarah approached, as the whole school had been speculating about the new girl who had her own carriage and pony and seemed to be so clever and refined. Sarah took her to her room to play with Emily and spoke, sadly but calmly, about how much she missed her father. From then they determined to be best friends, and that is just where we pick up tonight. So lie back and relax as I turn to the next pages of A Little Princess. Chapter 4 Lottie If Sarah had been a different kind of child, the life she led at Miss Mention's select seminary for girls for the next few years would not have been at all good for her. She was treated more as if she were a distinguished guest at the establishment than as if she were a mere little girl. If she had been a self-opinionated, domineering child, she might have become disagreeable enough to be unbearable through being so much indulged and flattered. If she had been an indolent child, she would have learned nothing. Privately Miss Mention disliked her, but she was far too worldly a woman to do or say anything which might make such a desirable pupil wish to leave her school. She knew quite well that if Sarah wrote to her papa to tell him she was uncomfortable or unhappy, Captain Crew would remove her at once. Chapter 5 Miss Mention's opinion was that if a child were continually praised and never forbidden to do what she liked, she would be sure to be fond of the place where she was so treated. Accordingly, Sarah was praised for her quickness at her lessons, for her good manners, for her amy ability to her fellow pupils, for her generosity if she gave a sixpence to a beggar out of her full little purse. The simplest thing she did was treated as if it were a virtue, and if she had not had a disposition and a clever little brain, she might have been a very self-satisfied young person. But the clever little brain told her a great many sensible and true things about herself and her circumstances, and now and then she talked these things over to Armangard as time went on. Things happened to people by accident, she used to say. A lot of nice accidents have happened to me. It just happened that I always liked lessons and books and could remember things when I learned them. It just happened that I was born with a father who was beautiful and nice and clever and could give me everything I liked. Perhaps I have not really a good temper at all, but if you have everything you want and everyone is kind to you, how can you help but be good tempered? I don't know, looking quite serious, how I shall ever find out whether I am a really nice child or a horrid one. Perhaps I am a hideous child and no one will ever know, just because I never have any trials. Lavigne has no trials, said Armangard stolidly, and she is horrid enough. Sarah rubbed the end of her little nose reflectively as she thought the matter over. Well, she said at last. Perhaps, perhaps that is because Lavigne is growing. This was the result of a charitable recollection of having heard Miss Emilia say that Lavigne was growing so fast that she believed it affected her health and temper. Lavigne, in fact, was spiteful. She was inordinately jealous of Sarah. Until the new pupil's arrival, she had felt herself the leader in the school. She had led because she was capable of making herself extremely disagreeable if the others did not follow her. She domineered over the little children and assumed grand airs with those big enough to be her companions. She was rather pretty and had been the best dressed pupil in the procession when the select seminary walked out two by two until Sarah's velvet coats and sable muffs appeared. Combined with drooping ostrich feathers and were led by Miss Minchin at the head of the line. This at the beginning had been bitter enough, but as time went on, it became apparent that Sarah was a leader too and not because she could make herself disagreeable, but because she never did. There's one thing about Sarah crew. Jesse had enraged her best friend by saying honestly, she's never grand about herself in the least bit and you know she might be, Lavigne. I believe I couldn't help being just a little if I had so many fine things and was made such a fuss over. It's disgusting the way Miss Minchin shows her off when parents come. Is Sarah must come into the drawing room and talk to Mrs Musgrave about India? Mimicked Lavigne in her most highly flavored imitation of Miss Minchin. Dear Sarah must speak French to Lady Pitkin, her accent is so perfect. She didn't learn her French at the seminary at any rate and there's nothing so clever in her knowing it. She says herself she didn't learn it at all. She just picked it up because she's always heard her papa speak it. And as to her papa, there's nothing so grand in being an Indian officer. Well, said Jesse slowly. He's killed tigers. He killed the one in the skin Sarah has in her room. That's why she likes it so. She lies on it and strokes its head and talks to it as if it were a cat. She's always doing something silly. Snapped Lavigne. My mama says that way of hers of pretending things is silly. She says she will grow up eccentric. It was quite true that Sarah was never grand. She was a friendly little soul and shared her privileges and belongings with a free hand. The little ones who were accustomed to being disdained and ordered out of the way by mature ladies aged 10 and 12 were never made to cry by this most envied of them all. She was a motherly young person and when people fell down and scraped their knees, she ran and helped them up and patted them or found in her pocket a bonbon or some other article of a soothing nature. She never pushed them out of her way or alluded to their years as a humiliation and a blot upon their small characters. If you are for you are for, she said severely to Lavigne on an occasion of her having. It must be confessed, slapped, lotty and called her a brat. But you will be five next year and six the year after that and opening large convicting eyes. It takes 16 years to make you 20. Dear me, said Lavigne, how we can calculate in fact it was not to be denied that 16 and four made 20 and 20 was an age the most daring was scarcely bold enough to dream of. So the younger children adored Sarah. More than once she had been known to have a tea party made up of these despised ones in her own room and Emily had been played with and Emily's own tea service used the one with cups which held quite a lot of much sweetened weak tea and had blue flowers on them. No one had seen such a very real doll's tea set before. From that afternoon Sarah was regarded as a goddess and a queen by the entire alphabet class. Lotty Lee worshipped her to such an extent that if Sarah had not been a motherly person she would have found her tiresome. Lotty had been sent to school by a rather flighty young papa who could not imagine what else to do with her. Her young mother had died and as the child had been treated like a favorite doll or a very spoiled pet monkey or a lapdog ever since the first hour of her life she was a very appalling little creature. When she wanted anything or did not want anything she wept and howled and as she always wanted the things she could not have and did not want the things that were best for her her shrill little voice was usually to be heard uplifted in whales in one part of the house or another. Her strongest weapon was that in some mysterious way she had found out that a very small girl who had lost her mother was a person who ought to be pitied and made much of. She had probably heard some grown-up people talking her over in the early days after her mother's death so it became her habit to make great use of this knowledge. The first time Sarah took her in charge was one morning when on passing a sitting room she heard both Miss Mention and Miss Amelia trying to suppress the angry whales of some child who evidently refused to be silenced. She refused so strenuously indeed that Miss Mention was obliged to almost shout in a stately and severe manner to make herself heard. What is she crying for? She almost yelled. Sarah heard. I haven't got any mama. Oh Lottie screamed Miss Amelia. Do stop darling. Don't cry. Please don't. Lottie howled tempestuously. I haven't got any mama. She ought to be whipped, Miss Mention proclaimed. You shall be whipped, you naughty child. Lottie wailed more loudly than ever. Miss Amelia began to cry. Miss Mention's voice rose until it almost thundered. Then suddenly she sprang up from her chair in impotent indignation and flounced out of the room leaving Miss Amelia to arrange the matter. Sarah had paused in the hall wondering if she ought to go into the room because she had recently begun a friendly acquaintance with Lottie and might be able to quiet her. When Miss Mention came out and saw her she looked rather annoyed. She realized that her voice as heard from inside the room could not have sounded either dignified or amiable. Oh Sarah she exclaimed endeavouring to produce a suitable smile. I stopped, explained Sarah. Because I knew it was Lottie and I thought perhaps just perhaps I could make her be quiet. May I try Miss Mention? If you can you are a clever child. Answered Miss Mention drawing in her mouth sharply. Then seeing that Sarah looked slightly chilled by her asperity she changed her manner. But you are clever in everything she said in her approving way. I dare say you can manage her. Go in. And she left her. When Sarah entered the room Lottie was lying upon the floor screaming and kicking her small fat legs violently. And Miss Amelia was bending over her in consternation and despair looking quite red and damp with heat. Lottie had always found when in her own nursery at home that kicking and screaming would always be quieted by any means she insisted on. Poor plump Miss Amelia was trying first one method and then another. Poor darling she said one moment I know you haven't any mama or then in quite another tone if you don't stop Lottie I will shake you poor little angel there. Wicked bad detestable child I will smack you I will. Sarah went to them quietly she did not know at all what she was going to do but she had a vague inward conviction that it would be better not to say such different kinds of things quite so helplessly and excitedly. Miss Amelia she said in a low voice Miss Minchin says I may try to make her stop may I. Miss Amelia turned and looked at her hopelessly. How do you think you can she gasped I don't know whether I can answered Sarah still in her half whisper but I will try. Miss Amelia stumbled up from her knees with a heavy sigh and Lottie's fat little legs kicked as hard as ever. If you will steal out of the room said Sarah I will stay with her. Sarah almost whimpered Miss Amelia we never had such a dreadful child before I don't believe we can keep her. But she crept out of the room and was very much relieved to find an excuse for doing it. Sarah stood by the howling furious child for a few moments and looked down at her without saying anything then she sat down flat on the floor beside her and waited. Except for Lottie's angry screams the room was quite quiet. This was a new state of affairs for little Miss Lee who was accustomed when she screamed to hear other people protest and implore and command and coax by turns. To lie and kick and shriek and find the only person near you not seeming to mind in the least attracted her attention. She opened her tight shut streaming guys to see who this person was and it was only another little girl but it was the one who owned Emily. And all the nice things and she was looking at her steadily and as if she was merely thinking. Having paused for a few seconds to find this out Lottie thought she must begin again. But the quiet of the room and of Sarah's odd interested face made her first howl rather half hearted. I haven't any mum ah. She announced but her voice was not so strong. Sarah looked at her still more steadily but with a sort of understanding in her eyes. Neither have I she said. This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Lottie actually dropped her legs gave a wriggle and lay and stared. A new idea will stop a crying child when nothing else will. Also it was true that while Lottie disliked Miss Mention who was cross and Miss Amelia who was foolishly indulgent she rather liked Sarah little as she knew her. She did not want to give up her grievance but her thoughts were distracted from it. So she wriggled again and after a sulky sob said. Where is she? Sarah paused a moment because she had been told that her mama was in heaven. She had thought a great deal about the matter and her thoughts had not been quite like those of other people. She went to heaven she said. So I'm sure she comes out sometimes to see me though I don't see her. So does yours. Perhaps they can both see us now. Perhaps they are both in this room. Lottie sat bolt upright and looked about her. She was a pretty little curly headed creature and her round eyes were like wet forget-me-nots. If her mama had seen her during the last half hour she might not have thought her the kind of child who ought to be related to an angel. Sarah went on talking. Perhaps some people might think that what she said was rather like a fairy story but it was all so real to her own imagination that Lottie began to listen in spite of herself. She had been told that her mama had wings and a crown and she had been shown pictures of ladies in beautiful white nightgowns who were said to be angels. But Sarah seemed to be telling a real story about a lovely country where real people were. There are fields and fields of flowers. She said forgetting herself as usual when she began and talking rather as if she were in a dream. Fields and fields of lilies. And when the soft wind blows over them it wafts the scent of them into the air. And everybody always breathes it because the soft wind is always blowing. And little children run about in their lily fields and gather armfuls of them and laugh and make little reeds. And the streets are shining and people are never tired however far they were. And people are never tired however far they walk. They can float anywhere they like. And there are walls made of pearl and gold all around the city but they are low enough for the people to go and lean on them and look down onto the earth and smile and send beautiful messages. What so ever story she had begun to tell Lottie would no doubt have stopped crying and been fascinated into listening. But there was no denying that this story was prettier than most others. She dragged herself close to Sarah and drank in every word until the end came far too soon. When it did come she was so sorry that she put up her lip ominously. I want to go there. She cried. I haven't any mama in this school. Sarah saw the danger signal and came out of her dream. She took hold of the chubby hand and pulled her close to her side with a coaxing little laugh. I will be your mama. She said. We will play that you are my little girl and Emily shall be your sister. Lottie's dimples all began to show themselves. Shall she? She said. Yes answered Sarah jumping to her feet. Let us go and tell her and then I will wash your face and brush your hair. To which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully and trotted out of the room and upstairs with her. Without seeming even to remember that the whole of the last hour's tragedy had been caused by the fact that she had refused to be washed and brushed for lunch and Miss Mention had been called in to use her majestic authority. And from that time Sarah was an adopted mother. Chapter 5 Becky Of course the greatest power Sarah possessed and the one which gained her even more followers than her luxuries and the fact that she was the show pupil. The power that Lavigne and certain other girls were most envious of and at the same time most fascinated by in spite of themselves was her power of telling stories and of making everything she talked about seem like a story whether it was one or not. Anyone who has been at school with a teller of stories knows what the wonder means how he or she is followed about and besought in a whisper to relate romances how groups gather round and hang on the outskirts of the favoured party in the hope of being allowed to join in and listen. Chapter 6 Sarah not only could tell stories but she adored telling them. When she sat or stood in the midst of a circle and began to invent wonderful things her green eyes grew big and shining her cheeks flushed and without knowing what she was doing she began to act and made what she told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping of her voice the bend and sway of her slim body and the dramatic movement of her hands. She forgot that she was talking to listening children and she saw and lived with the fairy folk or the kings and queens and beautiful ladies whose adventures she was narrating. Sometimes when she had finished her story she was quite out of breath with excitement and would lay her hand on her thin little quick rising chest and half laugh as if at herself. And I'm telling it she would say it doesn't seem as if it was only made up it seems more real than you are more real than the schoolroom. I feel as if I were all the people in the story one after the other it is queer. She had been at Miss Mention's school about two years when one foggy winter's afternoon as she was getting out of her carriage comfortably wrapped up in her warmest velvets and furs and looking very much grander than she knew. She caught sight as she crossed the pavement of a dingy little figure standing on the area steps and stretching its neck so that its wide open eyes might peer at her through the railings. Something in the eagerness and timidity of the smudgy face made her look at it and when she looked she smiled because it was her way to smile at people. But the owner of the smudgy face and the wide open eyes evidently was afraid that she ought not to have been caught looking at pupils of importance. She dodged out of sight like a jack in the box and scurried back into the kitchen disappearing so suddenly that if she had not been such a poor little forlorn thing Sarah would have laughed in spite of herself. That very evening as Sarah was sitting in the midst of a group of listeners in a corner of the schoolroom telling one of her stories the very same figure timidly entered the room carrying a coal box much too heavy for her and knelt down upon the hearth row to replenish the fire and sweep up the ashes. She was cleaner than she had been when she peeped through the area railings but she looked just as frightened. She was evidently afraid to look at the children or seem to be listening. She put on pieces of coal cautiously with her fingers so that she might make no disturbing noise and she sweared about the fire irons very softly. But Sarah saw in two minutes that she was deeply interested in what was going on and that she was doing her work slowly in the hope of catching word here and there and realizing this she raised her voice and spoke more clearly. The mermaids swam softly about in the crystal green water and dragged after them a fishing net woven of deep sea pearls she said. The princess sat on the white rock and watched them. It was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved by a prince merman and went to live with him in shining caves under the sea. The small drudge before the great swept the ha once and then swept it again. Having done it twice she did it three times and as she was doing it the third time the sound of the story so lured her to listen that she fell under the spell and actually forgot that she had no right to listen at all and also forgot everything else. She sat down upon her heels as she knelt on the hearth rug and the brush hung idly in her fingers. The voice of the storyteller went on and drew her in with it into winding grottoes under the sea glowing with soft clear blue light and paved with pure golden sands. Strange sea flowers and grasses waved about her and far away faint singing and music echoed. The hearth brush fell from the work roughened hand and Lavinia Herbert looked round. That girl has been listening she said. The culprit snatched up her brush and scrambled to her feet. She caught at the call box and simply scuttled out of the room like a frightened rabbit. Sarah felt rather hot tempered. I knew she was listening she said why shouldn't she? Lavinia tossed her head with great elegance. Well she remarked I do not know whether your mama would like you to tell stories to servant girls but I know my mama wouldn't like me to do it. My mama said Sarah looking odd. I don't believe she would mind in the least she knows that stories belong to everybody. I thought retorted Lavinia in severe recollection that your mama was dead how can she know things? Do you think she doesn't know things? said Sarah in her stern little voice. Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice. Sarah's mama knows everything. piped in lotty. So does my mama. Except Sarah is my mama at Miss Mention's. My other one knows everything. The streets are shining and there are fields and fields of lilies and everybody gathers them. Sarah tells me when she puts me to bed. You wicked thing said Lavinia turning on Sarah. Making fairy stories about heaven. There are much more splendid stories in Revelation. Returned Sarah. Just look and see. How do you know my nefairy stories? But I can tell you with a fine bit of unheavenly temper. You will never find out whether they are or not if you are not kinder to people than you are now. Come along lotty. And she marched out of the room. Rather hoping that she might see the little servant again somewhere. But she found no trace of her when she got into the hall. Who is that little girl who makes the fires? She asked Mariette that night. Mariette broke forth into a flow of description. Ah indeed Mademoiselle Sarah might well ask. She was a forlorn little thing who had just taken the place of scullery made. Though as to being scullery made she was everything else besides. She blacked boots and grates and carried heavy coal scuttles up and downstairs. And scrubbed floors and cleaned windows. And was ordered about by everybody. She was fourteen years old but was so stunted in growth that she looked about twelve. In truth Mariette was sorry for her. She was so timid that if one chance to speak to her it appeared as if her poor frightened eyes would jump out of her head. What is her name? Asked Sarah who had sat by the table with her chin on her hands as she listened absorbedly to the recital. Her name was Becky. Mariette heard everyone below stairs calling Becky do this and Becky do that every five minutes in the day. Sarah sat and looked into the fire reflecting on Becky for some time after Mariette left her. She made up a story of which Becky was the ill-used heroine. She thought she looked as if she never had quite enough to eat. Her very eyes were hungry. She hoped she should see her again but though she caught sight of her carrying things up or downstairs on several occasions she always seemed in such a hurry and so afraid of being seen that it was impossible to speak to her. But a few weeks later on another foggy afternoon when she entered her sitting room she found herself confronting a rather pathetic picture. In her own special and pet easy chair before the bright fire Becky with a coal smudge on her nose and several on her apron with her poor little cat hanging half off her head and an empty coal box on the floor near her. She sat fast asleep tired out beyond even the endurance of her hard working young body. She had been sent up to put the bedrooms in order for the evening. There were a great many of them and she had been running about all day. Sarah's rooms she had saved until the last. They were not like the other rooms which were plain and bare. Ordinary pupils were expected to be satisfied with mere necessaries. Sarah's comfortable sitting room seemed a bower of luxury to the scullery maid though it was in fact merely a nice bright little room. But there were pictures and books in it and curious things from India. There was a sofa and the low soft chair. Emily sat in a chair of her own with the air of a presiding goddess and there was always a glowing fire and a polished grate. Becky saved it until the end of her afternoon's work because it rested her to go into it. And she always hoped to snatch a few minutes to sit down in the soft chair and look about her and think about the wonderful good fortune of the child who owned such surroundings and who went out on the cold days in beautiful hats and coats one tried to catch a glimpse of through the area railing. On this afternoon when she had sat down the sensation of relief to her short aching legs had been so wonderful and delightful that it had seemed to soothe her whole body. And the glow of warmth and comfort from the fire had crept over her like a spell until as she looked at the red coals a tired slow smile stole over her smudged face. Her head nodded forward without her being aware of it. Her eyes drooped and she fell fast asleep. She had really been only about 10 minutes in the room when Sarah entered but she was in as deep a sleep as if she had been like the sleeping beauty slumbering for 100 years. But she did not look poor Becky like a sleeping beauty at all. She looked only like an ugly stunted worn out little scullery drudge. Sarah seemed as much unlike her as if she were a creature from another world. On this particular afternoon she had been taking her dancing lessons and the afternoon on which the dancing master appeared was rather a grand occasion at the seminary though it occurred every week. The pupils were tired in their prettiest frocks and as Sarah danced particularly well she was very much brought forward and Mariette was requested to make her as diaphanous and fine as possible. Today a frock the color of a rose had been put on her and Mariette had brought some real buds and made her a wreath to wear on her black locks. She had been learning a new delightful dance in which she had been skimming and flying about the room like a large rose colored butterfly and the enjoyment and exercise had brought a brilliant happy glow into her face. When she entered the room she floated in with a few of the butterfly steps and there sat Becky nodding her cap sideways off her head. Oh cried Sarah softly when she saw her. That poor thing. It did not occur to her to feel cross at finding her pet chair occupied by the small dingy figure. To tell the truth she was quite glad to find it there. When the ill used heroine of her story wakened she could talk to her. She crept toward her quietly and stood looking at her. Becky gave a little snore. I wish she'd waken herself Sarah said. Sarah said. I don't like to waken her but Miss Mention would be cross if she found out. I'll just wait a few minutes. She took a seat on the edge of the table and sat swinging her slim rose colored legs and wondering what it would be best to do. Miss Amelia might come in at any moment and if she did Becky would be sure to be scolded. But she's so tired she thought she's so tired. A piece of flaming coal ended her perplexity for her at that very moment. It broke off from a large lump and fell onto the fender. Becky started and opened her eyes with a frightened gasp. She did not know she had fallen asleep. She'd only sat down for one moment and felt the beautiful glow. And here she found herself staring in wild alarm at the wonderful people who sat perched quite near her like a rose colored fairy with interested eyes. She sprang up and clutched at her cap. She felt it dangling over her ear and tried wildly to put it straight. Oh she had got herself into trouble now with her vengeance to have impudently fallen asleep on such a young lady's chair. She would be turned out of doors without wages. She made a sound like a big breathless sob. Oh miss, oh miss. She stuttered. I asked you pardon miss, oh I do miss. Sarah jumped down and came quite close to her. Don't be frightened, she said as if she had been speaking to a little girl like herself. It doesn't matter the niece bit. I didn't go to do it miss, protested Becky. It was it was the warm fire and maybe being so tired it it it wasn't impertence. Sarah broke into a friendly little laugh and put her hand on her shoulder. You were tired, she said. You could not help it. You are not really awake yet. How poor Becky stared at her. In fact, she had never heard such a nice, friendly sound in anyone's voice before. She was used to being ordered about and scolded and having her ears boxed. And this one in her rose-colored dancing afternoon splendor was looking at her as if she were not a culprit at all. As if she had a right to be tired, even to fall asleep. The touch of the soft, slim little paw on her shoulder was the most amazing thing she had ever known. Ain't you angry miss? She gasped. Ain't you going to tell the missus? No, cried out Sarah. Course I'm not. The woeful fright in the cold, smutted face made her suddenly so sorry that she could scarcely bear it. One of her queer thoughts rushed into her mind. She put her hand against Becky's cheek. Why, she said, we are just the same. I'm only a little girl like you. It is just an accident that I'm not you and you are not me. Becky did not understand in the least. Her mind could not grasp such amazing thoughts. And an accident meant to her a calamity in which someone was run over or fell off a ladder and was carried to the hospital. A accident, miss? She fluttered respectfully. Is it? Yes. Yes. Sarah answered and she looked at her dreamily for a moment. But the next she spoke in a different tone. She realized that Becky did not know what she meant. Have you done your work? She asked. There you stay here for a few minutes. Becky lost her breath again. Amy's. Me. Sarah ran to the door, opened it, looked out and listened. No one is anywhere about. She explained. If your bedrooms are finished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while. I thought perhaps you might like a piece of cake. The next 10 minutes seemed to Becky like a sort of delirium. Sarah opened a cupboard and gave her a thick slice of cake. She seemed to rejoice when it was devoured in hungry bites. She talked and asked questions and laughed until Becky's fears actually began to calm themselves. And she once or twice gathered boldness enough to ask a question, also herself, daring as she felt it to be. Is that? She ventured, looking longingly at the rose-colored frock. And she asked it in almost a whisper. Is that there your best? It is one of my dancing frocks, answered Sarah. I like it, don't you? For a few seconds, Becky was almost speechless with admiration. Then she said in an awed voice. Once, I see a princess. I was standing in the street with the crowd, outside Covinggarden, watching the spells go into the opera. And there was one everyone stared at most. He says to each other, that is the princess. She was a growed-up young lady, but she was pink all over. Gand and cloak and flowers and all. I called her to mind the minute I saw you sitting there on a table, Miss. You look like her. I've often thought, said Sarah in her reflecting voice, that I should like to be a princess. I'm under what it feels like. I believe I will begin pretending I am one. Becky stared at her admiringly, and as before, did not understand her in the least. She watched her with a sort of adoration. Very soon, Sarah left her reflections and turned to her with a new question. Becky, she said, weren't you listening to that story? Yes, Miss, confessed Becky a little alarmed again. I know I hadn't ought up, I was beautiful and I couldn't help it. I liked you to listen to it, said Sarah. If you tell stories, you like nothing so much as to tell them to people who want to listen. I don't know why it is. Would you like to hear the rest? Becky lost her breath again. Oh, may you hear it? She cried. Like as if I was a pupil, Miss. All about the prince and the little white mer babies, swimming about and laughing with stars in their air. Sarah nodded. You haven't noticed? You haven't the time to hear it now, I'm afraid, she said. But if you will tell me just what time you come to do my rooms, I will try to be here and tell you every bit of it every day until it is finished. It is a lovely long one and I'm always putting new bits to it. Then, breathed Becky devoutly, I wouldn't mind how heavy the cold boxes was. Or what the cook done to me if I might have that to think of. You may, said Sarah. I'll tell it all to you. When Becky went downstairs, she was not the same Becky who had staggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal scuttle. She had an extra piece of cake in her pocket and she had been fed and warmed, but not only by cake and fire, something else had warmed and fed her. And the something else was Sarah. When she was gone, Sarah sat on her favorite perch on the end of her table. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. If I was a princess, a real princess, she mammored. I could scatter largest to the populace. But even if I am only a pretend princess, I can invent little things to do for people. Things like this. She was just as happy as if it was largest. I pretend that to do things people like is scattering largest. I've scattered largest. You You