10. The Indian Gentleman

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　But it was a perilous thing for Ermengarde and Lottie to makepilgrimages to the attic. They could never be quite sure whenSara would be there, and they could scarcely ever be certain thatMiss Amelia would not make a tour of inspection through thebedrooms after the pupils were supposed to be asleep. So theirvisits were rare ones, and Sara lived a strange and lonely life.It was a lonelier life when she was downstairs than when she wasin her attic. She had no one to talk to; and when she was sentout on errands and walked through the streets, a forlorn littlefigure carrying a basket or a parcel, trying to hold her hat onwhen the wind was blowing, and feeling the water soak through hershoes when it was raining, she felt as if the crowds hurryingpast her made her loneliness greater. When she had been thePrincess Sara, driving through the streets in her brougham, orwalking, attended by Mariette, the sight of her bright, eagerlittle face and picturesque coats and hats had often causedpeople to look after her. A happy, beautifully cared for littlegirl naturally attracts attention. Shabby, poorly dressedchildren are not rare enough and pretty enough to make peopleturn around to look at them and smile. No one looked at Sara inthese days, and no one seemed to see her as she hurried along thecrowded pavements. She had begun to grow very fast, and, as shewas dressed only in such clothes as the plainer remnants of herwardrobe would supply, she knew she looked very queer, indeed.All her valuable garments had been disposed of, and such as hadbeen left for her use she was expected to wear so long as shecould put them on at all. Sometimes, when she passed a shopwindow with a mirror in it, she almost laughed outright oncatching a glimpse of herself, and sometimes her face went redand she bit her lip and turned away.In the evening, when she passed houses whose windows werelighted up, she used to look into the warm rooms and amuseherself by imagining things about the people she saw sittingbefore the fires or about the tables. It always interested herto catch glimpses of rooms before the shutters were closed.There were several families in the square in which Miss Minchinlived, with which she had become quite familiar in a way of herown. The one she liked best she called the Large Family. Shecalled it the Large Family not because the members of it were big--for, indeed, most of them were little--but because there wereso many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family,and a stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout,rosy grandmother, and any number of servants. The eight childrenwere always either being taken out to walk or to ride inperambulators by comfortable nurses, or they were going to drivewith their mamma, or they were flying to the door in the eveningto meet their papa and kiss him and dance around him and drag offhis overcoat and look in the pockets for packages, or they werecrowding about the nursery windows and looking out and pushingeach other and laughing--in fact, they were always doingsomething enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a large family.Sara was quite fond of them, and had given them names out ofbooks--quite romantic names. She called them the Montmorencyswhen she did not call them the Large Family. The fat, fair babywith the lace cap was Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the nextbaby was Violet Cholmondeley Montmorency; the little boy whocould just stagger and who had such round legs was Sydney CecilVivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian Evangeline Maud Marion,Rosalind Gladys, Guy Clarence, Veronica Eustacia, and ClaudeHarold Hector.One evening a very funny thing happened--though, perhaps, in onesense it was not a funny thing at all.Several of the Montmorencys were evidently going to a children'sparty, and just as Sara was about to pass the door they werecrossing the pavement to get into the carriage which was waitingfor them. Veronica Eustacia and Rosalind Gladys, in white-lacefrocks and lovely sashes, had just got in, and Guy Clarence, agedfive, was following them. He was such a pretty fellow and hadsuch rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and such a darling little roundhead covered with curls, that Sara forgot her basket and shabbycloak altogether--in fact, forgot everything but that she wantedto look at him for a moment. So she paused and looked.It was Christmas time, and the Large Family had been hearingmany stories about children who were poor and had no mammas andpapas to fill their stockings and take them to the pantomime--children who were, in fact, cold and thinly clad and hungry. Inthe stories, kind people--sometimes little boys and girls withtender hearts--invariably saw the poor children and gave themmoney or rich gifts, or took them home to beautiful dinners. GuyClarence had been affected to tears that very afternoon by thereading of such a story, and he had burned with a desire to findsuch a poor child and give her a certain sixpence he possessed,and thus provide for her for life. An entire sixpence, he wassure, would mean affluence for evermore. As he crossed the stripof red carpet laid across the pavement from the door to thecarriage, he had this very sixpence in the pocket of his veryshort man-o-war trousers; And just as Rosalind Gladys got intothe vehicle and jumped on the seat in order to feel the cushionsspring under her, he saw Sara standing on the wet pavement in hershabby frock and hat, with her old basket on her arm, looking athim hungrily.He thought that her eyes looked hungry because she had perhapshad nothing to eat for a long time. He did not know that theylooked so because she was hungry for the warm, merry life hishome held and his rosy face spoke of, and that she had a hungrywish to snatch him in her arms and kiss him. He only knew thatshe had big eyes and a thin face and thin legs and a commonbasket and poor clothes. So he put his hand in his pocket andfound his sixpence and walked up to her benignly."Here, poor little girl," he said. "Here is a sixpence. I willgive it to you."Sara started, and all at once realized that she looked exactlylike poor children she had seen, in her better days, waiting onthe pavement to watch her as she got out of her brougham. Andshe had given them pennies many a time. Her face went red andthen it went pale, and for a second she felt as if she could nottake the dear little sixpence."Oh, no!" she said. "Oh, no, thank you; I mustn't take it,indeed!"Her voice was so unlike an ordinary street child's voice and hermanner was so like the manner of a well-bred little person thatVeronica Eustacia (whose real name was Janet) and Rosalind Gladys(who was really called Nora) leaned forward to listen.But Guy Clarence was not to be thwarted in his benevolence. Hethrust the sixpence into her hand."Yes, you must take it, poor little girl!" he insisted stoutly."You can buy things to eat with it. It is a whole sixpence!"There was something so honest and kind in his face, and helooked so likely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she did nottake it, that Sara knew she must not refuse him. To be as proudas that would be a cruel thing. So she actually put her pride inher pocket, though it must be admitted her cheeks burned."Thank you," she said. "You are a kind, kind little darlingthing." And as he scrambled joyfully into the carriage she wentaway, trying to smile, though she caught her breath quickly andher eyes were shining through a mist. She had known that shelooked odd and shabby, but until now she had not known that shemight be taken for a beggar.As the Large Family's carriage drove away, the children insideit were talking with interested excitement."Oh, Donald," (this was Guy Clarence's name), Janet exclaimedalarmedly, "why did you offer that little girl your sixpence?I'm sure she is not a beggar!""She didn't speak like a beggar!" cried Nora. "And her facedidn't really look like a beggar's face!""Besides, she didn't beg," said Janet. "I was so afraid shemight be angry with you. You know, it makes people angry to betaken for beggars when they are not beggars.""She wasn't angry," said Donald, a trifle dismayed, but stillfirm. "She laughed a little, and she said I was a kind, kindlittle darling thing. And I was!"--stoutly. "It was my wholesixpence."Janet and Nora exchanged glances."A beggar girl would never have said that," decided Janet. "Shewould have said, `Thank yer kindly, little gentleman-- thank yer,sir;' and perhaps she would have bobbed a curtsy."Sara knew nothing about the fact, but from that time the LargeFamily was as profoundly interested in her as she was in it.Faces used to appear at the nursery windows when she passed, andmany discussions concerning her were held round the fire."She is a kind of servant at the seminary," Janet said. "Idon't believe she belongs to anybody. I believe she is anorphan. But she is not a beggar, however shabby she looks."And afterward she was called by all of them, "The-little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar," which was, of course, rather a long name,and sounded very funny sometimes when the youngest ones said itin a hurry.Sara managed to bore a hole in the sixpence and hung it on anold bit of narrow ribbon round her neck. Her affection for theLarge Family increased--as, indeed, her affection for everythingshe could love increased. She grew fonder and fonder of Becky,and she used to look forward to the two mornings a week when shewent into the schoolroom to give the little ones their Frenchlesson. Her small pupils loved her, and strove with each otherfor the privilege of standing close to her and insinuating theirsmall hands into hers. It fed her hungry heart to feel themnestling up to her. She made such friends with the sparrows thatwhen she stood upon the table, put her head and shoulders out ofthe attic window, and chirped, she heard almost immediately aflutter of wings and answering twitters, and a little flock ofdingy town birds appeared and alighted on the slates to talk toher and make much of the crumbs she scattered. With Melchisedecshe had become so intimate that he actually brought Mrs.Melchisedec with him sometimes, and now and then one or two ofhis children. She used to talk to him, and, somehow, he lookedquite as if he understood.There had grown in her mind rather a strange feeling aboutEmily, who always sat and looked on at everything. It arose inone of her moments of great desolateness. She would have likedto believe or pretend to believe that Emily understood andsympathized with her. She did not like to own to herself thather only companion could feel and hear nothing. She used to puther in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on the old redfootstool, and stare and pretend about her until her own eyeswould grow large with something which was almost like fear--particularly at night when everything was so still, when the onlysound in the attic was the occasional sudden scurry and squeak ofMelchisedec's family in the wall. One of her "pretends" was thatEmily was a kind of good witch who could protect her. Sometimes,after she had stared at her until she was wrought up to thehighest pitch of fancifulness, she would ask her questions andfind herself almost feeling as if she would presently answer.But she never did."As to answering, though," said Sara, trying to console herself,"I don't answer very often. I never answer when I can help it.When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for themas not to say a word--just to look at them and think. MissMinchin turns pale with rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looksfrightened, and so do the girls. When you will not fly into apassion people know you are stronger than they are, because youare strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, andthey say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward.There's nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold itin--that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answer yourenemies. I scarcely ever do. Perhaps Emily is more like me thanI am like myself. Perhaps she would rather not answer herfriends, even. She keeps it all in her heart."But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, shedid not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in whichshe had been sent here and there, sometimes on long errandsthrough wind and cold and rain, she came in wet and hungry, andwas sent out again because nobody chose to remember that she wasonly a child, and that her slim legs might be tired and her smallbody might be chilled; when she had been given only harsh wordsand cold, slighting looks for thanks; when the cook had beenvulgar and insolent; when Miss Minchin had been in her worstmood, and when she had seen the girls sneering among themselvesat her shabbiness--then she was not always able to comfort hersore, proud, desolate heart with fancies when Emily merely satupright in her old chair and stared.One of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold andhungry, with a tempest raging in her young breast, Emily's stareseemed so vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive, thatSara lost all control over herself. There was nobody but Emily--no one in the world. And there she sat."I shall die presently," she said at first.Emily simply stared."I can't bear this," said the poor child, trembling. "I know Ishall die. I'm cold; I'm wet; I'm starving to death. I'vewalked a thousand miles today, and they have done nothing butscold me from morning until night. And because I could not findthat last thing the cook sent me for, they would not give me anysupper. Some men laughed at me because my old shoes made me slipdown in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they laughed.Do you hear?"She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face, andsuddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted herlittle savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting intoa passion of sobbing--Sara who never cried."You are nothing but a doll!" she cried. "Nothing but a doll--doll--doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed withsawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make youfeel. You are a doll!" Emily lay on the floor, with her legsignominiously doubled up over her head, and a new flat place onthe end of her nose; but she was calm, even dignified. Sara hidher face in her arms. The rats in the wall began to fight andbite each other and squeak and scramble. Melchisedec waschastising some of his family.Sara's sobs gradually quieted themselves. It was so unlike herto break down that she was surprised at herself. After a whileshe raised her face and looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazingat her round the side of one angle, and, somehow, by this timeactually with a kind of glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent andpicked her up. Remorse overtook her. She even smiled at herselfa very little smile."You can't help being a doll," she said with a resigned sigh,"any more than Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense.We are not all made alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best."And she kissed her and shook her clothes straight, and put herback upon her chair.She had wished very much that some one would take the emptyhouse next door. She wished it because of the attic window whichwas so near hers. It seemed as if it would be so nice to see itpropped open someday and a head and shoulders rising out of thesquare aperture."If it looked a nice head," she thought, "I might begin bysaying, `Good morning,' and all sorts of things might happen.But, of course, it's not really likely that anyone but underservants would sleep there."One morning, on turning the corner of the square after a visit tothe grocer's, the butcher's, and the baker's, she saw, to hergreat delight, that during her rather prolonged absence, a vanfull of furniture had stopped before the next house, the frontdoors were thrown open, and men in shirt sleeves were going inand out carrying heavy packages and pieces of furniture."It's taken!" she said. "It really is taken! Oh, I do hope anice head will look out of the attic window!"She would almost have liked to join the group of loiterers whohad stopped on the pavement to watch the things carried in. Shehad an idea that if she could see some of the furniture she couldguess something about the people it belonged to."Miss Minchin's tables and chairs are just like her," shethought; "I remember thinking that the first minute I saw her,even though I was so little. I told papa afterward, and helaughed and said it was true. I am sure the Large Family havefat, comfortable armchairs and sofas, and I can see that theirred-flowery wallpaper is exactly like them. It's warm andcheerful and kind-looking and happy."She was sent out for parsley to the greengrocer's later in theday, and when she came up the area steps her heart gave quite aquick beat of recognition. Several pieces of furniture had beenset out of the van upon the pavement. There was a beautifultable of elaborately wrought teakwood, and some chairs, and ascreen covered with rich Oriental embroidery. The sight of themgave her a weird, homesick feeling. She had seen things so likethem in India. One of the things Miss Minchin had taken from herwas a carved teakwood desk her father had sent her."They are beautiful things," she said; "they look as if theyought to belong to a nice person. All the things look rathergrand. I suppose it is a rich family."The vans of furniture came and were unloaded and gave place toothers all the day. Several times it so happened that Sara hadan opportunity of seeing things carried in. It became plain thatshe had been right in guessing that the newcomers were people oflarge means. All the furniture was rich and beautiful, and agreat deal of it was Oriental. Wonderful rugs and draperies andornaments were taken from the vans, many pictures, and booksenough for a library. Among other things there was a superb godBuddha in a splendid shrine."Someone in the family must have been in India," Sara thought."They have got used to Indian things and like them. I am glad.I shall feel as if they were friends, even if a head never looksout of the attic window."When she was taking in the evening's milk for the cook (therewas really no odd job she was not called upon to do), she sawsomething occur which made the situation more interesting thanever. The handsome, rosy man who was the father of the LargeFamily walked across the square in the most matter-of-factmanner, and ran up the steps of the next-door house. He ran upthem as if he felt quite at home and expected to run up and downthem many a time in the future. He stayed inside quite a longtime, and several times came out and gave directions to theworkmen, as if he had a right to do so. It was quite certainthat he was in some intimate way connected with the newcomers andwas acting for them."If the new people have children," Sara speculated, "the LargeFamily children will be sure to come and play with them, andthey might come up into the attic just for fun."At night, after her work was done, Becky came in to see herfellow prisoner and bring her news."It's a' Nindian gentleman that's comin' to live next door,miss," she said. "I don't know whether he's a black gentleman ornot, but he's a Nindian one. He's very rich, an' he's ill, an'the gentleman of the Large Family is his lawyer. He's had a lotof trouble, an' it's made him ill an' low in his mind. Heworships idols, miss. He's an 'eathen an' bows down to wood an'stone. I seen a' idol bein' carried in for him to worship.Somebody had oughter send him a trac'. You can get a trac' for apenny."Sara laughed a little."I don't believe he worships that idol," she said; "some peoplelike to keep them to look at because they are interesting. Mypapa had a beautiful one, and he did not worship it."But Becky was rather inclined to prefer to believe that the newneighbor was "an 'eathen." It sounded so much more romantic thanthat he should merely be the ordinary kind of gentleman who wentto church with a prayer book. She sat and talked long that nightof what he would be like, of what his wife would be like if hehad one, and of what his children would be like if they hadchildren. Sara saw that privately she could not help hoping verymuch that they would all be black, and would wear turbans, and,above all, that--like their parent--they would all be "'eathens.""I never lived next door to no 'eathens, miss," she said; "Ishould like to see what sort o' ways they'd have."It was several weeks before her curiosity was satisfied, andthen it was revealed that the new occupant had neither wife norchildren. He was a solitary man with no family at all, and itwas evident that he was shattered in health and unhappy in mind.A carriage drove up one day and stopped before the house. Whenthe footman dismounted from the box and opened the door thegentleman who was the father of the Large Family got out first.After him there descended a nurse in uniform, then came down thesteps two men-servants. They came to assist their master, who,when he was helped out of the carriage, proved to be a man with ahaggard, distressed face, and a skeleton body wrapped in furs.He was carried up the steps, and the head of the Large Familywent with him, looking very anxious. Shortly afterward adoctor's carriage arrived, and the doctor went in--plainly totake care of him."There is such a yellow gentleman next door, Sara," Lottiewhispered at the French class afterward. "Do you think he is aChinee? The geography says the Chinee men are yellow.""No, he is not Chinese," Sara whispered back; "he is very ill.Go on with your exercise, Lottie. `Non, monsieur. Je n'ai pasle canif de mon oncle.'"That was the beginning of the story of the Indian gentleman.