English
Thewinterwasawretchedone.ThereweredaysonwhichSaratrampedthroughsnowwhenshewentonhererrands;therewereworsedayswhenthesnowmeltedandcombineditselfwithmudtoformslush;therewereotherswhenthefogwassothickthatthelampsinthestreetwerelightedalldayandLondonlookedasithadlookedtheafternoon,severalyearsago,whenthecabhaddriventhroughthethoroughfareswithSaratuckeduponitsseat,leaningagainstherfather’sshoulder.
OnsuchdaysthewindowsofthehouseoftheLargeFamilyalwayslookeddelightfullycozyandalluring,andthestudyinwhichtheIndiangentlemansatglowedwithwarmthandrichcolor.Buttheatticwasdismalbeyondwords.
Therewerenolongersunsetsorsunrisestolookat,andscarcelyeveranystars,itseemedtoSara.
Thecloudshunglowovertheskylightandwereeithergrayormud-color,ordroppingheavyrain.
Atfouro’clockintheafternoon,evenwhentherewasnospecialfog,thedaylightwasatanend.
Ifitwasnecessarytogotoheratticforanything,Sarawasobligedtolightacandle.
Thewomeninthekitchenweredepressed,andthatmadethemmoreill-temperedthanever.Beckywasdrivenlikealittleslave.
”’Twarn’tforyou,miss,”shesaidhoarselytoSaraonenightwhenshehadcreptintotheattic—”’twarn’tforyou,an’theBastille,an’bein’theprisonerinthenextcell,Ishoulddie.
Thattheredoesseemrealnow,doesn’tit?
Themissusismoreliketheheadjailereverydayshelives.
Icanjestseethembigkeysyousayshecarries.
Thecookshe’slikeoneoftheunder-jailers.
Tellmesomemore,please,miss—tellmeaboutthesubt’raneanpassagewe’vedugunderthewalls.”
“I’lltellyousomethingwarmer,”shiveredSara.
“Getyourcoverletandwrapitroundyou,andI’llgetmine,andwewillhuddleclosetogetheronthebed,andI’lltellyouaboutthetropicalforestwheretheIndiangentleman’smonkeyusedtolive.
WhenIseehimsittingonthetablenearthewindowandlookingoutintothestreetwiththatmournfulexpression,Ialwaysfeelsureheisthinkingaboutthetropicalforestwhereheusedtoswingbyhistailfromcoconuttrees.
Iwonderwhocaughthim,andifheleftafamilybehindwhohaddependedonhimforcoconuts.”
“Thatiswarmer,miss,”saidBecky,gratefully;“but,someways,eventheBastilleissortofheatin’whenyougetstotellin’aboutit.”
“Thatisbecauseitmakesyouthinkofsomethingelse,”saidSara,wrappingthecoverletroundheruntilonlyhersmalldarkfacewastobeseenlookingoutofit.“I’venoticedthis.
Whatyouhavetodowithyourmind,whenyourbodyismiserable,istomakeitthinkofsomethingelse.”
“Canyoudoit,miss?”falteredBecky,regardingherwithadmiringeyes.
Saraknittedherbrowsamoment.
“SometimesIcanandsometimesIcan’t,”shesaidstoutly.“ButwhenIcanI’mallright.
AndwhatIbelieveisthatwealwayscould—ifwepracticedenough.
I’vebeenpracticingagooddeallately,andit’sbeginningtobeeasierthanitusedtobe.
Whenthingsarehorrible—justhorrible—IthinkashardaseverIcanofbeingaprincess.
Isaytomyself,`Iamaprincess,andIamafairyone,andbecauseIamafairynothingcanhurtmeormakemeuncomfortable.’
Youdon’tknowhowitmakesyouforget”—withalaugh.
Shehadmanyopportunitiesofmakinghermindthinkofsomethingelse,andmanyopportunitiesofprovingtoherselfwhetherornotshewasaprincess.
Butoneofthestrongesttestsshewaseverputtocameonacertaindreadfuldaywhich,sheoftenthoughtafterward,wouldneverquitefadeoutofhermemoryevenintheyearstocome.
Forseveraldaysithadrainedcontinuously;thestreetswerechillyandsloppyandfullofdreary,coldmist;therewasmudeverywhere—stickyLondonmud—andovereverythingthepallofdrizzleandfog.
Ofcoursetherewereseverallongandtiresomeerrandstobedone—therealwayswereondayslikethis—andSarawassentoutagainandagain,untilhershabbyclothesweredampthrough.
Theabsurdoldfeathersonherforlornhatweremoredraggledandabsurdthanever,andherdowntroddenshoesweresowetthattheycouldnotholdanymorewater.
Addedtothis,shehadbeendeprivedofherdinner,becauseMissMinchinhadchosentopunishher.
Shewassocoldandhungryandtiredthatherfacebegantohaveapinchedlook,andnowandthensomekind-heartedpersonpassingherinthestreetglancedatherwithsuddensympathy.Butshedidnotknowthat.
Shehurriedon,tryingtomakehermindthinkofsomethingelse.Itwasreallyverynecessary.
Herwayofdoingitwasto“pretend”and“suppose”withallthestrengththatwasleftinher.
Butreallythistimeitwasharderthanshehadeverfoundit,andonceortwiceshethoughtitalmostmadehermorecoldandhungryinsteadoflessso.
Butsheperseveredobstinately,andasthemuddywatersquelchedthroughherbrokenshoesandthewindseemedtryingtodragherthinjacketfromher,shetalkedtoherselfasshewalked,thoughshedidnotspeakaloudorevenmoveherlips.
“SupposeIhaddryclotheson,”shethought.
“SupposeIhadgoodshoesandalong,thickcoatandmerinostockingsandawholeumbrella.
Andsuppose—suppose—justwhenIwasnearabaker’swheretheysoldhotbuns,Ishouldfindsixpence—whichbelongedtonobody.
SupposeifIdid,Ishouldgointotheshopandbuysixofthehottestbunsandeatthemallwithoutstopping.”
Someveryoddthingshappeninthisworldsometimes.
ItcertainlywasanoddthingthathappenedtoSara.
Shehadtocrossthestreetjustwhenshewassayingthistoherself.
Themudwasdreadful—shealmosthadtowade.
Shepickedherwayascarefullyasshecould,butshecouldnotsaveherselfmuch;only,inpickingherway,shehadtolookdownatherfeetandthemud,andinlookingdown—justasshereachedthepavement—shesawsomethingshininginthegutter.
Itwasactuallyapieceofsilver—atinypiecetroddenuponbymanyfeet,butstillwithspiritenoughlefttoshinealittle.
Notquiteasixpence,butthenextthingtoit—afourpennypiece.
Inoneseconditwasinhercoldlittlered-and-bluehand.
“Oh,”shegasped,“itistrue!Itistrue!”
Andthen,ifyouwillbelieveme,shelookedstraightattheshopdirectlyfacingher.
Anditwasabaker’sshop,andacheerful,stout,motherlywomanwithrosycheekswasputtingintothewindowatrayofdeliciousnewlybakedhotbuns,freshfromtheoven—large,plump,shinybuns,withcurrantsinthem.
ItalmostmadeSarafeelfaintforafewseconds—theshock,andthesightofthebuns,andthedelightfulodorsofwarmbreadfloatingupthroughthebaker’scellarwindow.
Sheknewsheneednothesitatetousethelittlepieceofmoney.
Ithadevidentlybeenlyinginthemudforsometime,anditsownerwascompletelylostinthestreamofpassingpeoplewhocrowdedandjostledeachotheralldaylong.
“ButI’llgoandaskthebakerwomanifshehaslostanything,”shesaidtoherself,ratherfaintly.
Soshecrossedthepavementandputherwetfootonthestep.
Asshedidsoshesawsomethingthatmadeherstop.
Itwasalittlefiguremoreforlorneventhanherself—alittlefigurewhichwasnotmuchmorethanabundleofrags,fromwhichsmall,bare,redmuddyfeetpeepedout,onlybecausetheragswithwhichtheirownerwastryingtocoverthemwerenotlongenough.
Abovetheragsappearedashockheadoftangledhair,andadirtyfacewithbig,hollow,hungryeyes.
Saraknewtheywerehungryeyesthemomentshesawthem,andshefeltasuddensympathy.
“This,”shesaidtoherself,withalittlesigh,“isoneofthepopulace—andsheishungrierthanIam.”
Thechild—this“oneofthepopulace”—staredupatSara,andshuffledherselfasidealittle,soastogiveherroomtopass.
Shewasusedtobeingmadetogiveroomtoeverybody.
Sheknewthatifapolicemanchancedtoseeherhewouldtellherto“moveon.”
Saraclutchedherlittlefourpennypieceandhesitatedforafewseconds.Thenshespoketoher.
“Areyouhungry?”sheasked.
Thechildshuffledherselfandherragsalittlemore.
“Ain’tIjist?”shesaidinahoarsevoice.“Jistain’tI?”
“Haven’tyouhadanydinner?”saidSara.
“Nodinner,”morehoarselystillandwithmoreshuffling.“Noryetnobre’fast—noryetnosupper.Nonothin’.
“Sincewhen?”askedSara.
“Dunno.Nevergotnothin’today—nowhere.I’veaxedan’axed.”
JusttolookathermadeSaramorehungryandfaint.Butthosequeerlittlethoughtswereatworkinherbrain,andshewastalkingtoherself,thoughshewassickatheart.
“IfI’maprincess,”shewassaying,“ifI’maprincess—whentheywerepooranddrivenfromtheirthrones—theyalwaysshared—withthepopulace—iftheymetonepoorerandhungrierthanthemselves.Theyalwaysshared.Bunsareapennyeach.
IfithadbeensixpenceIcouldhaveeatensix.Itwon’tbeenoughforeitherofus.Butitwillbebetterthannothing.”
“Waitaminute,”shesaidtothebeggarchild.
Shewentintotheshop.Itwaswarmandsmelleddeliciously.Thewomanwasjustgoingtoputsomemorehotbunsintothewindow.
“Ifyouplease,”saidSara,“haveyoulostfourpence—asilverfourpence?”Andsheheldtheforlornlittlepieceofmoneyouttoher.
Thewomanlookedatitandthenather—atherintenselittlefaceanddraggled,oncefineclothes.
“Blessus,no,”sheanswered.“Didyoufindit?”
“Yes,”saidSara.“Inthegutter.”
“Keepit,then,”saidthewoman.“Itmayhavebeenthereforaweek,andgoodnessknowswholostit.Youcouldneverfindout.”
“Iknowthat,”saidSara,“butIthoughtIwouldaskyou.”
“Notmanywould,”saidthewoman,lookingpuzzledandinterestedandgood-naturedallatonce.
“Doyouwanttobuysomething?”sheadded,asshesawSaraglanceatthebuns.
“Fourbuns,ifyouplease,”saidSara.“Thoseatapennyeach.”
Thewomanwenttothewindowandputsomeinapaperbag.
Saranoticedthatsheputinsix.
“Isaidfour,ifyouplease,”sheexplained.“Ihaveonlyfourpence.”
“I’llthrowintwoformakeweight,”saidthewomanwithhergood-naturedlook.“Idaresayyoucaneatthemsometime.Aren’tyouhungry?”
AmistrosebeforeSara’seyes.
“Yes,”sheanswered.“Iamveryhungry,andIammuchobligedtoyouforyourkindness;and”—shewasgoingtoadd—”thereisachildoutsidewhoishungrierthanIam.”
Butjustatthatmomenttwoorthreecustomerscameinatonce,andeachoneseemedinahurry,soshecouldonlythankthewomanagainandgoout.
Thebeggargirlwasstillhuddledupinthecornerofthestep.
Shelookedfrightfulinherwetanddirtyrags.
Shewasstaringstraightbeforeherwithastupidlookofsuffering,andSarasawhersuddenlydrawthebackofherroughenedblackhandacrosshereyestorubawaythetearswhichseemedtohavesurprisedherbyforcingtheirwayfromunderherlids.Shewasmutteringtoherself.
Saraopenedthepaperbagandtookoutoneofthehotbuns,whichhadalreadywarmedherowncoldhandsalittle.
“See,”shesaid,puttingthebunintheraggedlap,“thisisniceandhot.Eatit,andyouwillnotfeelsohungry.”
Thechildstartedandstaredupather,asifsuchsudden,amazinggoodluckalmostfrightenedher;thenshesnatchedupthebunandbegantocramitintohermouthwithgreatwolfishbites.
“Oh,my!Oh,my!”Saraheardhersayhoarsely,inwilddelight.“Ohmy!”
Saratookoutthreemorebunsandputthemdown.
Thesoundinthehoarse,ravenousvoicewasawful.
“SheishungrierthanIam,”shesaidtoherself.“She’sstarving.”Butherhandtrembledwhensheputdownthefourthbun.“I’mnotstarving,”shesaid—andsheputdownthefifth.
ThelittleraveningLondonsavagewasstillsnatchinganddevouringwhensheturnedaway.
Shewastooravenoustogiveanythanks,evenifshehadeverbeentaughtpoliteness—whichshehadnot.Shewasonlyapoorlittlewildanimal.
“Good-bye,”saidSara.
Whenshereachedtheothersideofthestreetshelookedback.
Thechildhadabunineachhandandhadstoppedinthemiddleofabitetowatchher.
Saragaveheralittlenod,andthechild,afteranotherstare—acuriouslingeringstare—jerkedhershaggyheadinresponse,anduntilSarawasoutofsightshedidnottakeanotherbiteorevenfinishtheoneshehadbegun.
Atthatmomentthebaker-womanlookedoutofhershopwindow.
“Well,Inever!”sheexclaimed.
“Ifthatyoungunhasn’tgivenherbunstoabeggarchild!
Itwasn’tbecauseshedidn’twantthem,either.Well,well,shelookedhungryenough.
I’dgivesomethingtoknowwhatshediditfor.”
Shestoodbehindherwindowforafewmomentsandpondered.Thenhercuriositygotthebetterofher.Shewenttothedoorandspoketothebeggarchild.
“Whogaveyouthosebuns?”sheaskedher.ThechildnoddedherheadtowardSara’svanishingfigure.
“Whatdidshesay?”inquiredthewoman.
“AxedmeifIwas‘ungry,”repliedthehoarsevoice.
“Whatdidyousay?”
“SaidIwasjist.”
“Andthenshecameinandgotthebuns,andgavethemtoyou,didshe?”
Thechildnodded.
“Howmany?”
“Five.”
Thewomanthoughtitover.
“Leftjustoneforherself,”shesaidinalowvoice.“Andshecouldhaveeatenthewholesix—Isawitinhereyes.”
Shelookedafterthelittledraggledfar-awayfigureandfeltmoredisturbedinherusuallycomfortablemindthanshehadfeltformanyaday.
“Iwishshehadn’tgonesoquick,”shesaid.“I’mblestifsheshouldn’thavehadadozen.”Thensheturnedtothechild.
“Areyouhungryyet?”shesaid.
“I’mallushungry,”wastheanswer,“but‘tain’tasbadasitwas.”
“Comeinhere,”saidthewoman,andsheheldopentheshopdoor.
Thechildgotupandshuffledin.Tobeinvitedintoawarmplacefullofbreadseemedanincrediblething.Shedidnotknowwhatwasgoingtohappen.Shedidnotcare,even.
“Getyourselfwarm,”saidthewoman,pointingtoafireinthetinybackroom.
“Andlookhere;whenyouarehardupforabitofbread,youcancomeinhereandaskforit.
I’mblestifIwon’tgiveittoyouforthatyoungone’ssake.”***
Sarafoundsomecomfortinherremainingbun.
Atallevents,itwasveryhot,anditwasbetterthannothing.
Asshewalkedalongshebrokeoffsmallpiecesandatethemslowlytomakethemlastlonger.
“Supposeitwasamagicbun,”shesaid,“andabitewasasmuchasawholedinner.IshouldbeovereatingmyselfifIwentonlikethis.”
ItwasdarkwhenshereachedthesquarewheretheSelectSeminarywassituated.
Thelightsinthehouseswerealllighted.
TheblindswerenotyetdrawninthewindowsoftheroomwhereshenearlyalwayscaughtglimpsesofmembersoftheLargeFamily.
FrequentlyatthishourshecouldseethegentlemanshecalledMr.Montmorencysittinginabigchair,withasmallswarmroundhim,talking,laughing,perchingonthearmsofhisseatoronhiskneesorleaningagainstthem.
Thiseveningtheswarmwasabouthim,buthewasnotseated.
Onthecontrary,therewasagooddealofexcitementgoingon.
Itwasevidentthatajourneywastobetaken,anditwasMr.Montmorencywhowastotakeit.
Abroughamstoodbeforethedoor,andabigportmanteauhadbeenstrappeduponit.
Thechildrenweredancingabout,chatteringandhangingontotheirfather.
Theprettyrosymotherwasstandingnearhim,talkingasifshewasaskingfinalquestions.
Sarapausedamomenttoseethelittleonesliftedupandkissedandthebiggeronesbentoverandkissedalso.
“Iwonderifhewillstayawaylong,”shethought.“Theportmanteauisratherbig.Oh,dear,howtheywillmisshim!Ishallmisshimmyself—eventhoughhedoesn’tknowIamalive.”
Whenthedooropenedshemovedaway—rememberingthesixpence—butshesawthetravelercomeoutandstandagainstthebackgroundofthewarmly-lightedhall,theolderchildrenstillhoveringabouthim.
“WillMoscowbecoveredwithsnow?”saidthelittlegirlJanet.“Willtherebeiceeverywhere?”
“Shallyoudriveinadrosky?”criedanother.“ShallyouseetheCzar?”
“Iwillwriteandtellyouallaboutit,”heanswered,laughing.
“AndIwillsendyoupicturesofmuzhiksandthings.Runintothehouse.Itisahideousdampnight.
IwouldratherstaywithyouthangotoMoscow.Goodnight!Goodnight,duckies!Godblessyou!”
Andherandownthestepsandjumpedintothebrougham.
“Ifyoufindthelittlegirl,giveherourlove,”shoutedGuyClarence,jumpingupanddownonthedoormat.
Thentheywentinandshutthedoor.
“Didyousee,”saidJanettoNora,astheywentbacktotheroom--“thelittle-girl-who-is-not-a-beggarwaspassing?
Shelookedallcoldandwet,andIsawherturnherheadoverhershoulderandlookatus.
Mammasaysherclothesalwayslookasiftheyhadbeengivenherbysomeonewhowasquiterich—someonewhoonlyletherhavethembecausetheyweretooshabbytowear.
Thepeopleattheschoolalwayssendheroutonerrandsonthehorridestdaysandnightsthereare.”
SaracrossedthesquaretoMissMinchin’sareasteps,feelingfaintandshaky.
“Iwonderwhothelittlegirlis,”shethought—”thelittlegirlheisgoingtolookfor.”
Andshewentdowntheareasteps,luggingherbasketandfindingitveryheavyindeed,asthefatheroftheLargeFamilydrovequicklyonhiswaytothestationtotakethetrainwhichwastocarryhimtoMoscow,wherehewastomakehisbesteffortstosearchforthelostlittledaughterofCaptainCrewe.
14
WhatMelchisedecHeardandSaw
Onthisveryafternoon,whileSarawasout,astrangethinghappenedintheattic.
OnlyMelchisedecsawandheardit;andhewassomuchalarmedandmystifiedthathescuttledbacktohisholeandhidthere,andreallyquakedandtrembledashepeepedoutfurtivelyandwithgreatcautiontowatchwhatwasgoingon.
TheattichadbeenverystillallthedayafterSarahadleftitintheearlymorning.
Thestillnesshadonlybeenbrokenbythepatteringoftherainupontheslatesandtheskylight.
Melchisedechad,infact,founditratherdull;andwhentherainceasedtopatterandperfectsilencereigned,hedecidedtocomeoutandreconnoiter,thoughexperiencetaughthimthatSarawouldnotreturnforsometime.
Hehadbeenramblingandsniffingabout,andhadjustfoundatotallyunexpectedandunexplainedcrumbleftfromhislastmeal,whenhisattentionwasattractedbyasoundontheroof.
Hestoppedtolistenwithapalpitatingheart.
Thesoundsuggestedthatsomethingwasmovingontheroof.
Itwasapproachingtheskylight;itreachedtheskylight.
Theskylightwasbeingmysteriouslyopened.
Adarkfacepeeredintotheattic;thenanotherfaceappearedbehindit,andbothlookedinwithsignsofcautionandinterest.
Twomenwereoutsideontheroof,andweremakingsilentpreparationstoenterthroughtheskylightitself.
OnewasRamDassandtheotherwasayoungmanwhowastheIndiangentleman’ssecretary;butofcourseMelchisedecdidnotknowthis.
Heonlyknewthatthemenwereinvadingthesilenceandprivacyoftheattic;andastheonewiththedarkfacelethimselfdownthroughtheaperturewithsuchlightnessanddexteritythathedidnotmaketheslightestsound,Melchisedecturnedtailandfledprecipitatelybacktohishole.Hewasfrightenedtodeath.
HehadceasedtobetimidwithSara,andknewshewouldneverthrowanythingbutcrumbs,andwouldnevermakeanysoundotherthanthesoft,low,coaxingwhistling;butstrangemenweredangerousthingstoremainnear.
Helaycloseandflatneartheentranceofhishome,justmanagingtopeepthroughthecrackwithabright,alarmedeye.
HowmuchheunderstoodofthetalkheheardIamnotintheleastabletosay;but,evenifhehadunderstooditall,hewouldprobablyhaveremainedgreatlymystified.
Thesecretary,whowaslightandyoung,slippedthroughtheskylightasnoiselesslyasRamDasshaddone;andhecaughtalastglimpseofMelchisedec’svanishingtail.
“Wasthatarat?”heaskedRamDassinawhisper.
“Yes;arat,Sahib,”answeredRamDass,alsowhispering.“Therearemanyinthewalls.”
“Ugh!”exclaimedtheyoungman.“Itisawonderthechildisnotterrifiedofthem.”
RamDassmadeagesturewithhishands.Healsosmiledrespectfully.HewasinthisplaceastheintimateexponentofSara,thoughshehadonlyspokentohimonce.
“Thechildisthelittlefriendofallthings,Sahib,”heanswered.“Sheisnotasotherchildren.Iseeherwhenshedoesnotseeme.
Islipacrosstheslatesandlookathermanynightstoseethatsheissafe.
IwatchherfrommywindowwhenshedoesnotknowIamnear.
Shestandsonthetablethereandlooksoutattheskyasifitspoketoher.Thesparrowscomeathercall.
Theratshehasfedandtamedinherloneliness.
Thepoorslaveofthehousecomestoherforcomfort.
Thereisalittlechildwhocomestoherinsecret;thereisoneolderwhoworshipsherandwouldlistentoherforeverifshemight.
ThisIhaveseenwhenIhavecreptacrosstheroof.
Bythemistressofthehouse—whoisanevilwoman—sheistreatedlikeapariah;butshehasthebearingofachildwhoisofthebloodofkings!”
“Youseemtoknowagreatdealabouther,”thesecretarysaid.
“AllherlifeeachdayIknow,”answeredRamDass.
“HergoingoutIknow,andhercomingin;hersadnessandherpoorjoys;hercoldnessandherhunger.
Iknowwhensheisaloneuntilmidnight,learningfromherbooks;Iknowwhenhersecretfriendsstealtoherandsheishappier—aschildrencanbe,eveninthemidstofpoverty—becausetheycomeandshemaylaughandtalkwiththeminwhispers.
IfshewereillIshouldknow,andIwouldcomeandserveherifitmightbedone.”
“Youaresurenoonecomesnearthisplacebutherself,andthatshewillnotreturnandsurpriseus.Shewouldbefrightenedifshefoundushere,andtheSahibCarrisford’splanwouldbespoiled.”
RamDasscrossednoiselesslytothedoorandstoodclosetoit.
“Nonemountherebutherself,Sahib,”hesaid.“Shehasgoneoutwithherbasketandmaybegoneforhours.IfIstandhereIcanhearanystepbeforeitreachesthelastflightofthestairs.”
Thesecretarytookapencilandatabletfromhisbreastpocket.
“Keepyourearsopen,”hesaid;andhebegantowalkslowlyandsoftlyroundthemiserablelittleroom,makingrapidnotesonhistabletashelookedatthings.
Firsthewenttothenarrowbed.Hepressedhishanduponthemattressandutteredanexclamation.
“Ashardasastone,”hesaid.“Thatwillhavetobealteredsomedaywhensheisout.
Aspecialjourneycanbemadetobringitacross.Itcannotbedonetonight.”
Heliftedthecoveringandexaminedtheonethinpillow.
“Coverletdingyandworn,blanketthin,sheetspatchedandragged,”hesaid.
“Whatabedforachildtosleepin—andinahousewhichcallsitselfrespectable!
Therehasnotbeenafireinthatgrateformanyaday,”glancingattherustyfireplace.
“NeversinceIhaveseenit,”saidRamDass.“Themistressofthehouseisnotonewhoremembersthatanotherthanherselfmaybecold.”
Thesecretarywaswritingquicklyonhistablet.Helookedupfromitashetoreoffaleafandslippeditintohisbreastpocket.
“Itisastrangewayofdoingthething,”hesaid.“Whoplannedit?”
RamDassmadeamodestlyapologeticobeisance.
“Itistruethatthefirstthoughtwasmine,Sahib,”hesaid;“thoughitwasnaughtbutafancy.
Iamfondofthischild;wearebothlonely.
Itisherwaytorelatehervisionstohersecretfriends.
Beingsadonenight,Ilayclosetotheopenskylightandlistened.
Thevisionsherelatedtoldwhatthismiserableroommightbeifithadcomfortsinit.
Sheseemedtoseeitasshetalked,andshegrewcheeredandwarmedasshespoke.
Thenshecametothisfancy;andthenextday,theSahibbeingillandwretched,Itoldhimofthethingtoamusehim.
Itseemedthenbutadream,butitpleasedtheSahib.
Tohearofthechild’sdoingsgavehimentertainment.
Hebecameinterestedinherandaskedquestions.
Atlasthebegantopleasehimselfwiththethoughtofmakinghervisionsrealthings.”
“Youthinkthatitcanbedonewhileshesleeps?
Supposesheawakened,”suggestedthesecretary;anditwasevidentthatwhatsoevertheplanreferredtowas,ithadcaughtandpleasedhisfancyaswellastheSahibCarrisford’s.
“Icanmoveasifmyfeetwereofvelvet,”RamDassreplied;“andchildrensleepsoundly—eventheunhappyones.
Icouldhaveenteredthisroominthenightmanytimes,andwithoutcausinghertoturnuponherpillow.
Iftheotherbearerpassestomethethingsthroughthewindow,Icandoallandshewillnotstir.
Whensheawakensshewillthinkamagicianhasbeenhere.”
Hesmiledasifhisheartwarmedunderhiswhiterobe,andthesecretarysmiledbackathim.
“ItwillbelikeastoryfromtheArabianNights,”hesaid.“OnlyanOrientalcouldhaveplannedit.ItdoesnotbelongtoLondonfogs.”
Theydidnotremainverylong,tothegreatreliefofMelchisedec,who,asheprobablydidnotcomprehendtheirconversation,felttheirmovementsandwhispersominous.
Theyoungsecretaryseemedinterestedineverything.
Hewrotedownthingsaboutthefloor,thefireplace,thebrokenfootstool,theoldtable,thewalls—whichlasthetouchedwithhishandagainandagain,seemingmuchpleasedwhenhefoundthatanumberofoldnailshadbeendriveninvariousplaces.
“Youcanhangthingsonthem,”hesaid.
RamDasssmiledmysteriously.
“Yesterday,whenshewasout,”hesaid,“Ientered,bringingwithmesmall,sharpnailswhichcanbepressedintothewallwithoutblowsfromahammer.
IplacedmanyintheplasterwhereImayneedthem.Theyareready.”
TheIndiangentleman’ssecretarystoodstillandlookedroundhimashethrusthistabletsbackintohispocket.
“IthinkIhavemadenotesenough;wecangonow,”hesaid.“TheSahibCarrisfordhasawarmheart.Itisathousandpitiesthathehasnotfoundthelostchild.”
“Ifheshouldfindherhisstrengthwouldberestoredtohim,”saidRamDass.“HisGodmayleadhertohimyet.”
Thentheyslippedthroughtheskylightasnoiselesslyastheyhadenteredit.
And,afterhewasquitesuretheyhadgone,Melchisedecwasgreatlyrelieved,andinthecourseofafewminutesfeltitsafetoemergefromhisholeagainandscuffleaboutinthehopethatevensuchalarminghumanbeingsasthesemighthavechancedtocarrycrumbsintheirpocketsanddroponeortwoofthem.
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