English
WhenSarahadpassedthehousenextdoorshehadseenRamDassclosingtheshutters,andcaughtherglimpseofthisroomalso.
“ItisalongtimesinceIsawaniceplacefromtheinside,”wasthethoughtwhichcrossedhermind.
Therewastheusualbrightfireglowinginthegrate,andtheIndiangentlemanwassittingbeforeit.Hisheadwasrestinginhishand,andhelookedaslonelyandunhappyasever.
“Poorman!”saidSara.“Iwonderwhatyouaresupposing.”
Andthiswaswhathewas“supposing”atthatverymoment.
“Suppose,”hewasthinking,“suppose—evenifCarmichaeltracesthepeopletoMoscow—thelittlegirltheytookfromMadamePascal’sschoolinParisisnottheoneweareinsearchof.
Supposesheprovestobequiteadifferentchild.WhatstepsshallItakenext?”
WhenSarawentintothehouseshemetMissMinchin,whohadcomedownstairstoscoldthecook.
“Wherehaveyouwastedyourtime?”shedemanded.“Youhavebeenoutforhours.”
“Itwassowetandmuddy,”Saraanswered,“itwashardtowalk,becausemyshoesweresobadandslippedabout.”
“Makenoexcuses,”saidMissMinchin,“andtellnofalsehoods.”
Sarawentintothecook.Thecookhadreceivedaseverelectureandwasinafearfultemperasaresult.
Shewasonlytoorejoicedtohavesomeonetoventherrageon,andSarawasaconvenience,asusual.
“Whydidn’tyoustayallnight?”shesnapped.
Saralaidherpurchasesonthetable.
“Herearethethings,”shesaid.
Thecooklookedthemover,grumbling.Shewasinaverysavagehumorindeed.
“MayIhavesomethingtoeat?”Saraaskedratherfaintly.
“Tea’soveranddonewith,”wastheanswer.“Didyouexpectmetokeepithotforyou?”
Sarastoodsilentforasecond.
“Ihadnodinner,”shesaidnext,andhervoicewasquitelow.Shemadeitlowbecauseshewasafraiditwouldtremble.
“There’ssomebreadinthepantry,”saidthecook.“That’sallyou’llgetatthistimeofday.”
Sarawentandfoundthebread.Itwasoldandhardanddry.
Thecookwasintooviciousahumortogiveheranythingtoeatwithit.
ItwasalwayssafeandeasytoventherspiteonSara.
Really,itwashardforthechildtoclimbthethreelongflightsofstairsleadingtoherattic.
Sheoftenfoundthemlongandsteepwhenshewastired;buttonightitseemedasifshewouldneverreachthetop.
Severaltimesshewasobligedtostoptorest.
Whenshereachedthetoplandingshewasgladtoseetheglimmerofalightcomingfromunderherdoor.
ThatmeantthatErmengardehadmanagedtocreepuptopayheravisit.Therewassomecomfortinthat.
Itwasbetterthantogointotheroomaloneandfinditemptyanddesolate.
Themerepresenceofplump,comfortableErmengarde,wrappedinherredshawl,wouldwarmitalittle.
Yes;thereErmengardewaswhensheopenedthedoor.
Shewassittinginthemiddleofthebed,withherfeettuckedsafelyunderher.
ShehadneverbecomeintimatewithMelchisedecandhisfamily,thoughtheyratherfascinatedher.
WhenshefoundherselfaloneintheatticshealwayspreferredtositonthebeduntilSaraarrived.
Shehad,infact,onthisoccasionhadtimetobecomerathernervous,becauseMelchisedechadappearedandsniffedaboutagooddeal,andoncehadmadeherutterarepressedsquealbysittinguponhishindlegsand,whilehelookedather,sniffingpointedlyinherdirection.
“Oh,Sara,”shecriedout,“Iamgladyouhavecome.Melchywouldsniffaboutso.
Itriedtocoaxhimtogoback,buthewouldn’tforsuchalongtime.
Ilikehim,youknow;butitdoesfrightenmewhenhesniffsrightatme.Doyouthinkheeverwouldjump?”
“No,”answeredSara.
Ermengardecrawledforwardonthebedtolookather.
“Youdolooktired,Sara,”shesaid;“youarequitepale.”
“Iamtired,”saidSara,droppingontothelopsidedfootstool.“Oh,there’sMelchisedec,poorthing.He’scometoaskforhissupper.”
Melchisedechadcomeoutofhisholeasifhehadbeenlisteningforherfootstep.Sarawasquitesureheknewit.
Hecameforwardwithanaffectionate,expectantexpressionasSaraputherhandinherpocketandturneditinsideout,shakingherhead.
“I’mverysorry,”shesaid.“Ihaven’tonecrumbleft.Gohome,Melchisedec,andtellyourwifetherewasnothinginmypocket.I’mafraidIforgotbecausethecookandMissMinchinweresocross.”
Melchisedecseemedtounderstand.Heshuffledresignedly,ifnotcontentedly,backtohishome.
“Ididnotexpecttoseeyoutonight,Ermie,”Sarasaid.Ermengardehuggedherselfintheredshawl.
“MissAmeliahasgoneouttospendthenightwithheroldaunt,”sheexplained.
“Nooneelseevercomesandlooksintothebedroomsafterweareinbed.
IcouldstayhereuntilmorningifIwantedto.”
Shepointedtowardthetableundertheskylight.Sarahadnotlookedtowarditasshecamein.Anumberofbookswerepileduponit.Ermengarde’sgesturewasadejectedone.
“Papahassentmesomemorebooks,Sara,”shesaid.“Theretheyare.”
Saralookedroundandgotupatonce.Sherantothetable,andpickingupthetopvolume,turnedoveritsleavesquickly.Forthemomentsheforgotherdiscomforts.
“Ah,”shecriedout,“howbeautiful!Carlyle’sFrenchRevolution.Ihavesowantedtoreadthat!”
“Ihaven’t,”saidErmengarde.“AndpapawillbesocrossifIdon’t.He’llexpectmetoknowallaboutitwhenIgohomefortheholidays.WhatshallIdo?”
Sarastoppedturningovertheleavesandlookedatherwithanexcitedflushonhercheeks.
“Lookhere,”shecried,“ifyou’lllendmethesebooks,I’llreadthem—andtellyoueverythingthat’sinthemafterward—andI’lltellitsothatyouwillrememberit,too.”
“Oh,goodness!”exclaimedErmengarde.“Doyouthinkyoucan?”
“IknowIcan,”Saraanswered.“ThelittleonesalwaysrememberwhatItellthem.”
“Sara,”saidErmengarde,hopegleaminginherroundface,“ifyou’lldothat,andmakemeremember,I’ll—I’llgiveyouanything.”
“Idon’twantyoutogivemeanything,”saidSara.“Iwantyourbooks—Iwantthem!”Andhereyesgrewbig,andherchestheaved.
“Takethem,then,”saidErmengarde.“IwishIwantedthem—butIdon’t.I’mnotclever,andmyfatheris,andhethinksIoughttobe.”
Sarawasopeningonebookaftertheother.“Whatareyougoingtotellyourfather?”sheasked,aslightdoubtdawninginhermind.
“Oh,heneedn’tknow,”answeredErmengarde.“He’llthinkI’vereadthem.”
Saraputdownherbookandshookherheadslowly.
“That’salmostliketellinglies,”shesaid.
“Andlies—well,yousee,theyarenotonlywicked—they’revulgar.
Sometimes”—reflectively—”I’vethoughtperhapsImightdosomethingwicked—ImightsuddenlyflyintoarageandkillMissMinchin,youknow,whenshewasill-treatingme—butIcouldn’tbevulgar.
Whycan’tyoutellyourfatherIreadthem?”
“Hewantsmetoreadthem,”saidErmengarde,alittlediscouragedbythisunexpectedturnofaffairs.
“Hewantsyoutoknowwhatisinthem,”saidSara.“AndifIcantellittoyouinaneasywayandmakeyourememberit,Ishouldthinkhewouldlikethat.”
“He’lllikeitifIlearnanythinginanyway,”saidruefulErmengarde.“Youwouldifyouweremyfather.”
“It’snotyourfaultthat—”beganSara.Shepulledherselfupandstoppedrathersuddenly.Shehadbeengoingtosay,“It’snotyourfaultthatyouarestupid.”
“Thatwhat?”Ermengardeasked.
“Thatyoucan’tlearnthingsquickly,”amendedSara.“Ifyoucan’t,youcan’t.IfIcan—why,Ican;that’sall.”
ShealwaysfeltverytenderofErmengarde,andtriednottoletherfeeltoostronglythedifferencebetweenbeingabletolearnanythingatonce,andnotbeingabletolearnanythingatall.
Asshelookedatherplumpface,oneofherwise,old-fashionedthoughtscametoher.
“Perhaps,”shesaid,“tobeabletolearnthingsquicklyisn’teverything.
Tobekindisworthagreatdealtootherpeople.
IfMissMinchinkneweverythingonearthandwaslikewhatsheisnow,she’dstillbeadetestablething,andeverybodywouldhateher.
Lotsofcleverpeoplehavedoneharmandhavebeenwicked.LookatRobespierre—”
ShestoppedandexaminedErmengarde’scountenance,whichwasbeginningtolookbewildered.“Don’tyouremember?”shedemanded.“Itoldyouabouthimnotlongago.Ibelieveyou’veforgotten.”
“Well,Idon’trememberallofit,”admittedErmengarde.
“Well,youwaitaminute,”saidSara,“andI’lltakeoffmywetthingsandwrapmyselfinthecoverletandtellyouoveragain.”
Shetookoffherhatandcoatandhungthemonanailagainstthewall,andshechangedherwetshoesforanoldpairofslippers.
Thenshejumpedonthebed,anddrawingthecoverletabouthershoulders,satwithherarmsroundherknees.“Now,listen,”shesaid.
SheplungedintothegoryrecordsoftheFrenchRevolution,andtoldsuchstoriesofitthatErmengarde’seyesgrewroundwithalarmandsheheldherbreath.
Butthoughshewasratherterrified,therewasadelightfulthrillinlistening,andshewasnotlikelytoforgetRobespierreagain,ortohaveanydoubtsaboutthePrincessedeLamballe.
“Youknowtheyputherheadonapikeanddancedroundit,”Saraexplained.
“Andshehadbeautifulfloatingblondehair;andwhenIthinkofher,Ineverseeherheadonherbody,butalwaysonapike,withthosefuriouspeopledancingandhowling.”
ItwasagreedthatMr.St.Johnwastobetoldtheplantheyhadmade,andforthepresentthebooksweretobeleftintheattic.
“Nowlet’stelleachotherthings,”saidSara.“HowareyougettingonwithyourFrenchlessons?”
“EversomuchbettersincethelasttimeIcameuphereandyouexplainedtheconjugations.MissMinchincouldnotunderstandwhyIdidmyexercisessowellthatfirstmorning.”
Saralaughedalittleandhuggedherknees.
“Shedoesn’tunderstandwhyLottieisdoinghersumssowell,”shesaid;“butitisbecauseshecreepsuphere,too,andIhelpher.”Sheglancedroundtheroom.
“Theatticwouldberathernice—ifitwasn’tsodreadful,”shesaid,laughingagain.“It’sagoodplacetopretendin.”
ThetruthwasthatErmengardedidnotknowanythingofthesometimesalmostunbearablesideoflifeintheatticandshehadnotasufficientlyvividimaginationtodepictitforherself.
OntherareoccasionsthatshecouldreachSara’sroomsheonlysawthesideofitwhichwasmadeexcitingbythingswhichwere“pretended”andstorieswhichweretold.
Hervisitspartookofthecharacterofadventures;andthoughsometimesSaralookedratherpale,anditwasnottobedeniedthatshehadgrownverythin,herproudlittlespiritwouldnotadmitofcomplaints.
Shehadneverconfessedthatattimesshewasalmostravenouswithhunger,asshewastonight.
Shewasgrowingrapidly,andherconstantwalkingandrunningaboutwouldhavegivenherakeenappetiteevenifshehadhadabundantandregularmealsofamuchmorenourishingnaturethantheunappetizing,inferiorfoodsnatchedatsuchoddtimesassuitedthekitchenconvenience.
Shewasgrowingusedtoacertaingnawingfeelinginheryoungstomach.
“Isupposesoldiersfeellikethiswhentheyareonalongandwearymarch,”sheoftensaidtoherself.
Shelikedthesoundofthephrase,“longandwearymarch.”Itmadeherfeelratherlikeasoldier.
Shehadalsoaquaintsenseofbeingahostessintheattic.
“IfIlivedinacastle,”sheargued,“andErmengardewastheladyofanothercastle,andcametoseeme,withknightsandsquiresandvassalsridingwithher,andpennonsflying,whenIheardtheclarionssoundingoutsidethedrawbridgeIshouldgodowntoreceiveher,andIshouldspreadfeastsinthebanquethallandcallinminstrelstosingandplayandrelateromances.
WhenshecomesintotheatticIcan’tspreadfeasts,butIcantellstories,andnotletherknowdisagreeablethings.
Idaresaypoorchatelaineshadtodothatintimeoffamine,whentheirlandshadbeenpillaged.”
Shewasaproud,bravelittlechatelaine,anddispensedgenerouslytheonehospitalityshecouldoffer—thedreamsshedreamed—thevisionsshesaw—theimaginingswhichwereherjoyandcomfort.
So,astheysattogether,Ermengardedidnotknowthatshewasfaintaswellasravenous,andthatwhileshetalkedshenowandthenwonderedifherhungerwouldlethersleepwhenshewasleftalone.
Shefeltasifshehadneverbeenquitesohungrybefore.
“IwishIwasasthinasyou,Sara,”Ermengardesaidsuddenly.“Ibelieveyouarethinnerthanyouusedtobe.Youreyeslooksobig,andlookatthesharplittlebonesstickingoutofyourelbow!”
Sarapulleddownhersleeve,whichhadpusheditselfup.
“Ialwayswasathinchild,”shesaidbravely,“andIalwayshadbiggreeneyes.”
“Iloveyourqueereyes,”saidErmengarde,lookingintothemwithaffectionateadmiration.
“Theyalwayslookasiftheysawsuchalongway.
Ilovethem—andIlovethemtobegreen—thoughtheylookblackgenerally.”
“Theyarecat’seyes,”laughedSara;“butIcan’tseeinthedarkwiththem—becauseIhavetried,andIcouldn’t—IwishIcould.”
Itwasjustatthisminutethatsomethinghappenedattheskylightwhichneitherofthemsaw.
Ifeitherofthemhadchancedtoturnandlook,shewouldhavebeenstartledbythesightofadarkfacewhichpeeredcautiouslyintotheroomanddisappearedasquicklyandalmostassilentlyasithadappeared.Notquiteassilently,however.
Sara,whohadkeenears,suddenlyturnedalittleandlookedupattheroof.
“Thatdidn’tsoundlikeMelchisedec,”shesaid.“Itwasn’tscratchyenough.”
“What?”saidErmengarde,alittlestartled.
“Didn’tyouthinkyouheardsomething?”askedSara.
“N-no,”Ermengardefaltered.“Didyou?”{anothered.has“No-no,”}
“PerhapsIdidn’t,”saidSara;“butIthoughtIdid.Itsoundedasifsomethingwasontheslates—somethingthatdraggedsoftly.”
“Whatcoulditbe?”saidErmengarde.“Coulditbe—robbers?”
“No,”Sarabegancheerfully.“Thereisnothingtosteal—”
Shebrokeoffinthemiddleofherwords.
Theybothheardthesoundthatcheckedher.
Itwasnotontheslates,butonthestairsbelow,anditwasMissMinchin’sangryvoice.
Sarasprangoffthebed,andputoutthecandle.
“SheisscoldingBecky,”shewhispered,asshestoodinthedarkness.“Sheismakinghercry.”
“Willshecomeinhere?”Ermengardewhisperedback,panic-stricken.
“No.ShewillthinkIaminbed.Don’tstir.”
ItwasveryseldomthatMissMinchinmountedthelastflightofstairs.
Saracouldonlyrememberthatshehaddoneitoncebefore.
Butnowshewasangryenoughtobecomingatleastpartofthewayup,anditsoundedasifshewasdrivingBeckybeforeher.
“Youimpudent,dishonestchild!”theyheardhersay.“Cooktellsmeshehasmissedthingsrepeatedly.”
”’Twarn’tme,mum,”saidBeckysobbing.“Iwas‘ungryenough,but‘twarn’tme—never!”
“Youdeservetobesenttoprison,”saidMissMinchin’svoice.“Pickingandstealing!Halfameatpie,indeed!”
”’Twarn’tme,”weptBecky.“Icould‘aveeatawholeun—butIneverlaidafingeronit.”
MissMinchinwasoutofbreathbetweentemperandmountingthestairs.Themeatpiehadbeenintendedforherspeciallatesupper.ItbecameapparentthatsheboxedBecky’sears.
“Don’ttellfalsehoods,”shesaid.“Gotoyourroomthisinstant.”
BothSaraandErmengardeheardtheslap,andthenheardBeckyruninherslipshodshoesupthestairsandintoherattic.Theyheardherdoorshut,andknewthatshethrewherselfuponherbed.
“Icould‘avee’ttwoof‘em,”theyheardhercryintoherpillow.“An’Inevertookabite.‘Twascookgiveittoherpoliceman.”
Sarastoodinthemiddleoftheroominthedarkness.
Shewasclenchingherlittleteethandopeningandshuttingfiercelyheroutstretchedhands.
Shecouldscarcelystandstill,butshedarednotmoveuntilMissMinchinhadgonedownthestairsandallwasstill.
“Thewicked,cruelthing!”sheburstforth.
“ThecooktakesthingsherselfandthensaysBeckystealsthem.Shedoesn’t!Shedoesn’t!
She’ssohungrysometimesthatsheeatscrustsoutoftheashbarrel!”
Shepressedherhandshardagainstherfaceandburstintopassionatelittlesobs,andErmengarde,hearingthisunusualthing,wasoverawedbyit.Sarawascrying!TheunconquerableSara!
Itseemedtodenotesomethingnew—somemoodshehadneverknown.
Suppose—suppose—anewdreadpossibilitypresenteditselftoherkind,slow,littlemindallatonce.
Shecreptoffthebedinthedarkandfoundherwaytothetablewherethecandlestood.Shestruckamatchandlitthecandle.
Whenshehadlightedit,shebentforwardandlookedatSara,withhernewthoughtgrowingtodefinitefearinhereyes.
“Sara,”shesaidinatimid,almostawe-strickenvoice,are—are--younevertoldme—Idon’twanttoberude,but—areyoueverhungry?”
Itwastoomuchjustatthatmoment.Thebarrierbrokedown.Saraliftedherfacefromherhands.
“Yes,”shesaidinanewpassionateway.“Yes,Iam.I’msohungrynowthatIcouldalmosteatyou.AnditmakesitworsetohearpoorBecky.She’shungrierthanIam.”
Ermengardegasped.
“Oh,oh!”shecriedwoefully.“AndIneverknew!”
“Ididn’twantyoutoknow,”Sarasaid.“Itwouldhavemademefeellikeastreetbeggar.IknowIlooklikeastreetbeggar.”
“No,youdon’t—youdon’t!”Ermengardebrokein.“Yourclothesarealittlequeer—butyoucouldn’tlooklikeastreetbeggar.Youhaven’tastreet-beggarface.”
“Alittleboyoncegavemeasixpenceforcharity,”saidSara,withashortlittlelaughinspiteofherself.“Hereitis.”
Andshepulledoutthethinribbonfromherneck.
“Hewouldn’thavegivenmehisChristmassixpenceifIhadn’tlookedasifIneededit.”
Somehowthesightofthedearlittlesixpencewasgoodforbothofthem.Itmadethemlaughalittle,thoughtheybothhadtearsintheireyes.
“Whowashe?”askedErmengarde,lookingatitquiteasifithadnotbeenamereordinarysilversixpence.
“Hewasadarlinglittlethinggoingtoaparty,”saidSara.
“HewasoneoftheLargeFamily,thelittleonewiththeroundlegs—theoneIcallGuyClarence.
IsupposehisnurserywascrammedwithChristmaspresentsandhampersfullofcakesandthings,andhecouldseeIhadnothing.”
Ermengardegavealittlejumpbackward.Thelastsentenceshadrecalledsomethingtohertroubledmindandgivenherasuddeninspiration.
“Oh,Sara!”shecried.“WhatasillythingIamnottohavethoughtofit!”
“Ofwhat?”
“Somethingsplendid!”saidErmengarde,inanexcitedhurry.
“Thisveryafternoonmynicestauntsentmeabox.Itisfullofgoodthings.
Inevertouchedit,Ihadsomuchpuddingatdinner,andIwassobotheredaboutpapa’sbooks.”
Herwordsbegantotumbleovereachother.
“It’sgotcakeinit,andlittlemeatpies,andjamtartsandbuns,andorangesandred-currantwine,andfigsandchocolate.
I’llcreepbacktomyroomandgetitthisminute,andwe’lleatitnow.”
Saraalmostreeled.Whenoneisfaintwithhungerthementionoffoodhassometimesacuriouseffect.SheclutchedErmengarde’sarm.
“Doyouthink—youcould?”sheejaculated.
“IknowIcould,”answeredErmengarde,andsherantothedoor—openeditsoftly—putherheadoutintothedarkness,andlistened.ThenshewentbacktoSara.“Thelightsareout.Everybody’sinbed.
Icancreep—andcreep—andnoonewillhear.”
Itwassodelightfulthattheycaughteachother’shandsandasuddenlightsprangintoSara’seyes.
“Ermie!”shesaid.“Letuspretend!Letuspretendit’saparty!Andoh,won’tyouinvitetheprisonerinthenextcell?”
“Yes!Yes!Letusknockonthewallnow.Thejailerwon’thear.”
Sarawenttothewall.ThroughitshecouldhearpoorBeckycryingmoresoftly.Sheknockedfourtimes.
“Thatmeans,`Cometomethroughthesecretpassageunderthewall,’sheexplained.`Ihavesomethingtocommunicate.’”
Fivequickknocksansweredher.
“Sheiscoming,”shesaid.
AlmostimmediatelythedooroftheatticopenedandBeckyappeared.
Hereyeswereredandhercapwasslidingoff,andwhenshecaughtsightofErmengardeshebegantorubherfacenervouslywithherapron.
“Don’tmindmeabit,Becky!”criedErmengarde.
“MissErmengardehasaskedyoutocomein,”saidSara,“becausesheisgoingtobringaboxofgoodthingsupheretous.”
Becky’scapalmostfelloffentirely,shebrokeinwithsuchexcitement.
“Toeat,miss?”shesaid.“Thingsthat’sgoodtoeat?”
“Yes,”answeredSara,“andwearegoingtopretendaparty.”
“Andyoushallhaveasmuchasyouwanttoeat,”putinErmengarde.“I’llgothisminute!”
Shewasinsuchhastethatasshetiptoedoutoftheatticshedroppedherredshawlanddidnotknowithadfallen.Noonesawitforaminuteorso.
Beckywastoomuchoverpoweredbythegoodluckwhichhadbefallenher.
“Oh,miss!oh,miss!”shegasped;“Iknowitwasyouthataskedhertoletmecome.It—itmakesmecrytothinkofit.”AndshewenttoSara’ssideandstoodandlookedatherworshipingly.
ButinSara’shungryeyestheoldlighthadbeguntoglowandtransformherworldforher.
Hereintheattic—withthecoldnightoutside—withtheafternooninthesloppystreetsbarelypassed—withthememoryoftheawfulunfedlookinthebeggarchild’seyesnotyetfaded—thissimple,cheerfulthinghadhappenedlikeathingofmagic.
Shecaughtherbreath.
“Somehow,somethingalwayshappens,”shecried,“justbeforethingsgettotheveryworst.ItisasiftheMagicdidit.IfIcouldonlyjustrememberthatalways.Theworstthingneverquitecomes.”
ShegaveBeckyalittlecheerfulshake.
“No,no!Youmustn’tcry!”shesaid.“Wemustmakehasteandsetthetable.”
“Setthetable,miss?”saidBecky,gazingroundtheroom.“What’llwesetitwith?”
Saralookedroundtheattic,too.
“Theredoesn’tseemtobemuch,”sheanswered,halflaughing.
Thatmomentshesawsomethingandpounceduponit.ItwasErmengarde’sredshawlwhichlayuponthefloor.
“Here’stheshawl,”shecried.“Iknowshewon’tmindit.Itwillmakesuchaniceredtablecloth.”
Theypulledtheoldtableforward,andthrewtheshawloverit.Redisawonderfullykindandcomfortablecolor.Itbegantomaketheroomlookfurnisheddirectly.
“Hownicearedrugwouldlookonthefloor!”exclaimedSara.“Wemustpretendthereisone!”
Hereyesweptthebareboardswithaswiftglanceofadmiration.Therugwaslaiddownalready.
“Howsoftandthickitis!”shesaid,withthelittlelaughwhichBeckyknewthemeaningof;andsheraisedandsetherfootdownagaindelicately,asifshefeltsomethingunderit.
“Yes,miss,”answeredBecky,watchingherwithseriousrapture.Shewasalwaysquiteserious.
“Whatnext,now?”saidSara,andshestoodstillandputherhandsoverhereyes.“SomethingwillcomeifIthinkandwaitalittle”—inasoft,expectantvoice.“TheMagicwilltellme.”
Oneofherfavoritefancieswasthaton“theoutside,”asshecalledit,thoughtswerewaitingforpeopletocallthem.
Beckyhadseenherstandandwaitmanyatimebefore,andknewthatinafewsecondsshewoulduncoveranenlightened,laughingface.
Inamomentshedid.
“There!”shecried.“Ithascome!Iknownow!ImustlookamongthethingsintheoldtrunkIhadwhenIwasaprincess.”
Sheflewtoitscornerandkneeleddown.
Ithadnotbeenputintheatticforherbenefit,butbecausetherewasnoroomforitelsewhere.
Nothinghadbeenleftinitbutrubbish.Butsheknewsheshouldfindsomething.
TheMagicalwaysarrangedthatkindofthinginonewayoranother.
Inacornerlayapackagesoinsignificant-lookingthatithadbeenoverlooked,andwhensheherselfhadfounditshehadkeptitasarelic.
Itcontainedadozensmallwhitehandkerchiefs.
Sheseizedthemjoyfullyandrantothetable.
Shebegantoarrangethemupontheredtable-cover,pattingandcoaxingthemintoshapewiththenarrowlaceedgecurlingoutward,herMagicworkingitsspellsforherasshedidit.
“Thesearetheplates,”shesaid.“Theyaregoldenplates.Thesearetherichlyembroiderednapkins.NunsworkedtheminconventsinSpain.”
“Didthey,miss?”breathedBecky,herverysoulupliftedbytheinformation.
“Youmustpretendit,”saidSara.“Ifyoupretenditenough,youwillseethem.”
“Yes,miss,”saidBecky;andasSarareturnedtothetrunkshedevotedherselftotheeffortofaccomplishinganendsomuchtobedesired.
Saraturnedsuddenlytofindherstandingbythetable,lookingveryqueerindeed.
Shehadshuthereyes,andwastwistingherfaceinstrangeconvulsivecontortions,herhandshangingstifflyclenchedathersides.
Shelookedasifshewastryingtoliftsomeenormousweight.
“Whatisthematter,Becky?”Saracried.“Whatareyoudoing?”
Beckyopenedhereyeswithastart.
“Iwasa-’pretendin’,’miss,”sheansweredalittlesheepishly;“Iwastryin’toseeitlikeyoudo.Ialmostdid,”withahopefulgrin.“Butittakesaloto’stren’th.”
“Perhapsitdoesifyouarenotusedtoit,”saidSara,withfriendlysympathy;“butyoudon’tknowhoweasyitiswhenyou’vedoneitoften.Iwouldn’ttrysohardjustatfirst.Itwillcometoyouafterawhile.I’lljusttellyouwhatthingsare.Lookatthese.”
Sheheldanoldsummerhatinherhandwhichshehadfishedoutofthebottomofthetrunk.Therewasawreathofflowersonit.Shepulledthewreathoff.
“Thesearegarlandsforthefeast,”shesaidgrandly.“Theyfillalltheairwithperfume.There’samugonthewash-stand,Becky.Oh—andbringthesoapdishforacenterpiece.”
Beckyhandedthemtoherreverently.
“Whataretheynow,miss?”sheinquired.“You’dthinktheywasmadeofcrockery—butIknowtheyain’t.”
“Thisisacarvenflagon,”saidSara,arrangingtendrilsofthewreathaboutthemug.
“Andthis”—bendingtenderlyoverthesoapdishandheapingitwithroses—”ispurestalabasterencrustedwithgems.”
Shetouchedthethingsgently,ahappysmilehoveringaboutherlipswhichmadeherlookasifshewereacreatureinadream.
“My,ain’titlovely!”whisperedBecky.
“Ifwejusthadsomethingforbonbondishes,”Saramurmured.“There!”—dartingtothetrunkagain.“IrememberIsawsomethingthisminute.”
Itwasonlyabundleofwoolwrappedinredandwhitetissuepaper,butthetissuepaperwassoontwistedintotheformoflittledishes,andwascombinedwiththeremainingflowerstoornamentthecandlestickwhichwastolightthefeast.
OnlytheMagiccouldhavemadeitmorethananoldtablecoveredwitharedshawlandsetwithrubbishfromalong-unopenedtrunk.
ButSaradrewbackandgazedatit,seeingwonders;andBecky,afterstaringindelight,spokewithbatedbreath.
“This‘ere,”shesuggested,withaglanceroundtheattic—”isittheBastillenow—orhasitturnedintosomethin’different?”
“Oh,yes,yes!”saidSara.“Quitedifferent.Itisabanquethall!”
“Myeye,miss!”ejaculatedBecky.“Ablanket‘all!”andsheturnedtoviewthesplendorsaboutherwithawedbewilderment.
“Abanquethall,”saidSara.“Avastchamberwherefeastsaregiven.
Ithasavaultedroof,andaminstrels’gallery,andahugechimneyfilledwithblazingoakenlogs,anditisbrilliantwithwaxentaperstwinklingoneveryside.”
“Myeye,MissSara!”gaspedBeckyagain.
Thenthedooropened,andErmengardecamein,ratherstaggeringundertheweightofherhamper.
Shestartedbackwithanexclamationofjoy.
Toenterfromthechilldarknessoutside,andfindone’sselfconfrontedbyatotallyunanticipatedfestalboard,drapedwithred,adornedwithwhitenapery,andwreathedwithflowers,wastofeelthatthepreparationswerebrilliantindeed.
“Oh,Sara!”shecriedout.“YouarethecleverestgirlIeversaw!”
“Isn’titnice?”saidSara.“Theyarethingsoutofmyoldtrunk.IaskedmyMagic,andittoldmetogoandlook.”
“Butoh,miss,”criedBecky,“waittillshe’stoldyouwhattheyare!Theyain’tjust—oh,miss,pleasetellher,”appealingtoSara.
SoSaratoldher,andbecauseherMagichelpedhershemadeheralmostseeitall:thegoldenplatters—thevaultedspaces—theblazinglogs—thetwinklingwaxentapers.
Asthethingsweretakenoutofthehamper—thefrostedcakes—thefruits—thebonbonsandthewine—thefeastbecameasplendidthing.
“It’slikearealparty!”criedErmengarde.
“It’slikeaqueen’stable,”sighedBecky.
ThenErmengardehadasuddenbrilliantthought.
“I’lltellyouwhat,Sara,”shesaid.“Pretendyouareaprincessnowandthisisaroyalfeast.”
“Butit’syourfeast,”saidSara;“youmustbetheprincess,andwewillbeyourmaidsofhonor.”
“Oh,Ican’t,”saidErmengarde.“I’mtoofat,andIdon’tknowhow.Youbeher.”
“Well,ifyouwantmeto,”saidSara.
Butsuddenlyshethoughtofsomethingelseandrantotherustygrate.
“Thereisalotofpaperandrubbishstuffedinhere!”sheexclaimed.
“Ifwelightit,therewillbeabrightblazeforafewminutes,andweshallfeelasifitwasarealfire.”
Shestruckamatchandlighteditupwithagreatspeciousglowwhichilluminatedtheroom.
“Bythetimeitstopsblazing,”Sarasaid,“weshallforgetaboutitsnotbeingreal.”
Shestoodinthedancingglowandsmiled.
“Doesn’titlookreal?”shesaid.“Nowwewillbegintheparty.”
Sheledthewaytothetable.ShewavedherhandgraciouslytoErmengardeandBecky.Shewasinthemidstofherdream.
“Advance,fairdamsels,”shesaidinherhappydream-voice,“andbeseatedatthebanquettable.
Mynoblefather,theking,whoisabsentonalongjourney,hascommandedmetofeastyou.”
Sheturnedherheadslightlytowardthecorneroftheroom.“What,ho,there,minstrels!Strikeupwithyourviolsandbassoons.
Princesses,”sheexplainedrapidlytoErmengardeandBecky,“alwayshadminstrelstoplayattheirfeasts.
Pretendthereisaminstrelgalleryupthereinthecorner.Nowwewillbegin.”
Theyhadbarelyhadtimetotaketheirpiecesofcakeintotheirhands—notoneofthemhadtimetodomore,when—theyallthreesprangtotheirfeetandturnedpalefacestowardthedoor—listening—listening.
Someonewascomingupthestairs.Therewasnomistakeaboutit.Eachofthemrecognizedtheangry,mountingtreadandknewthattheendofallthingshadcome.
“It’s—themissus!”chokedBecky,anddroppedherpieceofcakeuponthefloor.
“Yes,”saidSara,hereyesgrowingshockedandlargeinhersmallwhiteface.“MissMinchinhasfoundusout.”
MissMinchinstruckthedooropenwithablowofherhand.
Shewaspaleherself,butitwaswithrage.
Shelookedfromthefrightenedfacestothebanquettable,andfromthebanquettabletothelastflickeroftheburntpaperinthegrate.
“Ihavebeensuspectingsomethingofthissort,”sheexclaimed;“butIdidnotdreamofsuchaudacity.Laviniawastellingthetruth.”
SotheyknewthatitwasLaviniawhohadsomehowguessedtheirsecretandhadbetrayedthem.MissMinchinstrodeovertoBeckyandboxedherearsforasecondtime.
“Youimpudentcreature!”shesaid.“Youleavethehouseinthemorning!”
Sarastoodquitestill,hereyesgrowinglarger,herfacepaler.Ermengardeburstintotears.
“Oh,don’tsendheraway,”shesobbed.“Myauntsentmethehamper.We’re—only—havingaparty.”
“SoIsee,”saidMissMinchin,witheringly.
“WiththePrincessSaraattheheadofthetable.”SheturnedfiercelyonSara.“Itisyourdoing,Iknow,”shecried.
“Ermengardewouldneverhavethoughtofsuchathing.
Youdecoratedthetable,Isuppose—withthisrubbish.”ShestampedherfootatBecky.“Gotoyourattic!”
shecommanded,andBeckystoleaway,herfacehiddeninherapron,hershouldersshaking.
ThenitwasSara’sturnagain.
“Iwillattendtoyoutomorrow.Youshallhaveneitherbreakfast,dinner,norsupper!”
“Ihavenothadeitherdinnerorsuppertoday,MissMinchin,”saidSara,ratherfaintly.
“Thenallthebetter.Youwillhavesomethingtoremember.Don’tstandthere.Putthosethingsintothehamperagain.”
Shebegantosweepthemoffthetableintothehamperherself,andcaughtsightofErmengarde’snewbooks.
“Andyou”—toErmengarde—”havebroughtyourbeautifulnewbooksintothisdirtyattic.Takethemupandgobacktobed.
Youwillstaytherealldaytomorrow,andIshallwritetoyourpapa.
Whatwouldhesayifheknewwhereyouaretonight?”
SomethingshesawinSara’sgrave,fixedgazeatthismomentmadeherturnonherfiercely.
“Whatareyouthinkingof?”shedemanded.“Whydoyoulookatmelikethat?”
“Iwaswondering,”answeredSara,asshehadansweredthatnotabledayintheschoolroom.
“Whatwereyouwondering?”
Itwasverylikethesceneintheschoolroom.TherewasnopertnessinSara’smanner.Itwasonlysadandquiet.
“Iwaswondering,”shesaidinalowvoice,“whatmypapawouldsayifheknewwhereIamtonight.”
MissMinchinwasinfuriatedjustasshehadbeenbeforeandherangerexpresseditself,asbefore,inanintemperatefashion.Sheflewatherandshookher.
“Youinsolent,unmanageablechild!”shecried.“Howdareyou!Howdareyou!”
Shepickedupthebooks,swepttherestofthefeastbackintothehamperinajumbledheap,thrustitintoErmengarde’sarms,andpushedherbeforehertowardthedoor.
“Iwillleaveyoutowonder,”shesaid.“Gotobedthisinstant.”AndsheshutthedoorbehindherselfandpoorstumblingErmengarde,andleftSarastandingquitealone.
Thedreamwasquiteatanend.Thelastsparkhaddiedoutofthepaperinthegrateandleftonlyblacktinder;thetablewasleftbare,thegoldenplatesandrichlyembroiderednapkins,andthegarlandsweretransformedagainintooldhandkerchiefs,scrapsofredandwhitepaper,anddiscardedartificialflowersallscatteredonthefloor;theminstrelsintheminstrelgalleryhadstolenaway,andtheviolsandbassoonswerestill.
Emilywassittingwithherbackagainstthewall,staringveryhard.
Sarasawher,andwentandpickedherupwithtremblinghands.
“Thereisn’tanybanquetleft,Emily,”shesaid.“Andthereisn’tanyprincess.ThereisnothingleftbuttheprisonersintheBastille.”Andshesatdownandhidherface.
Whatwouldhavehappenedifshehadnothiddenitjustthen,andifshehadchancedtolookupattheskylightatthewrongmoment,Idonotknow—perhapstheendofthischaptermighthavebeenquitedifferent—becauseifshehadglancedattheskylightshewouldcertainlyhavebeenstartledbywhatshewouldhaveseen.
ShewouldhaveseenexactlythesamefacepressedagainsttheglassandpeeringinatherasithadpeeredinearlierintheeveningwhenshehadbeentalkingtoErmengarde.
Butshedidnotlookup.Shesatwithherlittleblackheadinherarmsforsometime.
Shealwayssatlikethatwhenshewastryingtobearsomethinginsilence.
Thenshegotupandwentslowlytothebed.
“Ican’tpretendanythingelse—whileIamawake,”shesaid.“Therewouldn’tbeanyuseintrying.IfIgotosleep,perhapsadreamwillcomeandpretendforme.”
Shesuddenlyfeltsotired—perhapsthroughwantoffood—thatshesatdownontheedgeofthebedquiteweakly.
“Supposetherewasabrightfireinthegrate,withlotsoflittledancingflames,”shemurmured.
“Supposetherewasacomfortablechairbeforeit—andsupposetherewasasmalltablenear,withalittlehot—hotsupperonit.
Andsuppose”—asshedrewthethincoveringsoverher—”supposethiswasabeautifulsoftbed,withfleecyblanketsandlargedownypillows.
Suppose—suppose—”Andherverywearinesswasgoodtoher,forhereyesclosedandshefellfastasleep.
Shedidnotknowhowlongsheslept.Butshehadbeentiredenoughtosleepdeeplyandprofoundly—toodeeplyandsoundlytobedisturbedbyanything,evenbythesqueaksandscamperingsofMelchisedec’sentirefamily,ifallhissonsanddaughtershadchosentocomeoutoftheirholetofightandtumbleandplay.
Whensheawakeneditwasrathersuddenly,andshedidnotknowthatanyparticularthinghadcalledheroutofhersleep.
Thetruthwas,however,thatitwasasoundwhichhadcalledherback—arealsound—theclickoftheskylightasitfellinclosingafteralithewhitefigurewhichslippedthroughitandcroucheddownclosebyupontheslatesoftheroof—justnearenoughtoseewhathappenedintheattic,butnotnearenoughtobeseen.
Atfirstshedidnotopenhereyes.Shefelttoosleepyand—curiouslyenough—toowarmandcomfortable.
Shewassowarmandcomfortable,indeed,thatshedidnotbelieveshewasreallyawake.
Sheneverwasaswarmandcozyasthisexceptinsomelovelyvision.
“Whatanicedream!”shemurmured.“Ifeelquitewarm.I—don’t--want—to—wake—up.”
Ofcourseitwasadream.Shefeltasifwarm,delightfulbedclotheswereheapeduponher.
Shecouldactuallyfeelblankets,andwhensheputoutherhandittouchedsomethingexactlylikeasatin-coveredeider-downquilt.
Shemustnotawakenfromthisdelight—shemustbequitestillandmakeitlast.
Butshecouldnot—eventhoughshekepthereyesclosedtightly,shecouldnot.
Somethingwasforcinghertoawaken—somethingintheroom.
Itwasasenseoflight,andasound—thesoundofacrackling,roaringlittlefire.
“Oh,Iamawakening,”shesaidmournfully.“Ican’thelpit—Ican’t.”
Hereyesopenedinspiteofherself.Andthensheactuallysmiled—forwhatshesawshehadneverseenintheatticbefore,andknewshenevershouldsee.
“Oh,Ihaven’tawakened,”shewhispered,daringtoriseonherelbowandlookallabouther.“Iamdreamingyet.”
Sheknewitmustbeadream,forifshewereawakesuchthingscouldnot—couldnotbe.
Doyouwonderthatshefeltsureshehadnotcomebacktoearth?Thisiswhatshesaw.
Inthegratetherewasaglowing,blazingfire;onthehobwasalittlebrasskettlehissingandboiling;spreaduponthefloorwasathick,warmcrimsonrug;beforethefireafolding-chair,unfolded,andwithcushionsonit;bythechairasmallfolding-table,unfolded,coveredwithawhitecloth,anduponitspreadsmallcovereddishes,acup,asaucer,ateapot;onthebedwerenewwarmcoveringsandasatin-covereddownquilt;atthefootacuriouswaddedsilkrobe,apairofquiltedslippers,andsomebooks.
Theroomofherdreamseemedchangedintofairyland—anditwasfloodedwithwarmlight,forabrightlampstoodonthetablecoveredwitharosyshade.
Shesatup,restingonherelbow,andherbreathingcameshortandfast.
“Itdoesnot—meltaway,”shepanted.“Oh,Ineverhadsuchadreambefore.”
Shescarcelydaredtostir;butatlastshepushedthebedclothesaside,andputherfeetonthefloorwitharapturoussmile.
“Iamdreaming—Iamgettingoutofbed,”sheheardherownvoicesay;andthen,asshestoodupinthemidstofitall,turningslowlyfromsidetoside—”Iamdreamingitstays—real!I’mdreamingitfeelsreal.It’sbewitched—orI’mbewitched.IonlythinkIseeitall.”Herwordsbegantohurrythemselves.
“IfIcanonlykeeponthinkingit,”shecried,“Idon’tcare!Idon’tcare!”
Shestoodpantingamomentlonger,andthencriedoutagain.
“Oh,itisn’ttrue!”shesaid.“Itcan’tbetrue!Butoh,howtrueitseems!”
Theblazingfiredrewhertoit,andshekneltdownandheldoutherhandsclosetoit—soclosethattheheatmadeherstartback.
“AfireIonlydreamedwouldn’tbehot,”shecried.
Shesprangup,touchedthetable,thedishes,therug;shewenttothebedandtouchedtheblankets.
Shetookupthesoftwaddeddressing-gown,andsuddenlyclutchedittoherbreastandheldittohercheek.
“It’swarm.It’ssoft!”shealmostsobbed.“It’sreal.Itmustbe!”
Shethrewitoverhershoulders,andputherfeetintotheslippers.
“Theyarereal,too.It’sallreal!”shecried.“Iamnot—Iamnotdreaming!”
Shealmoststaggeredtothebooksandopenedtheonewhichlayuponthetop.Somethingwaswrittenontheflyleaf—justafewwords,andtheywerethese:
“Tothelittlegirlintheattic.Fromafriend.”
Whenshesawthat—wasn’titastrangethingforhertodo—sheputherfacedownuponthepageandburstintotears.
“Idon’tknowwhoitis,”shesaid;“butsomebodycaresformealittle.Ihaveafriend.”
ShetookhercandleandstoleoutofherownroomandintoBecky’s,andstoodbyherbedside.
“Becky,Becky!”shewhisperedasloudlyasshedared.“Wakeup!”
WhenBeckywakened,andshesatuprightstaringaghast,herfacestillsmudgedwithtracesoftears,besideherstoodalittlefigureinaluxuriouswaddedrobeofcrimsonsilk.
Thefaceshesawwasashining,wonderfulthing.
ThePrincessSara—assherememberedher—stoodatherverybedside,holdingacandleinherhand.
“Come,”shesaid.“Oh,Becky,come!”
Beckywastoofrightenedtospeak.Shesimplygotupandfollowedher,withhermouthandeyesopen,andwithoutaword.
Andwhentheycrossedthethreshold,Sarashutthedoorgentlyanddrewherintothewarm,glowingmidstofthingswhichmadeherbrainreelandherhungrysensesfaint.“It’strue!It’strue!”shecried.“I’vetouchedthemall.Theyareasrealasweare.
TheMagichascomeanddoneit,Becky,whilewewereasleep—theMagicthatwon’tletthoseworstthingseverquitehappen.”
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