15. The Magic

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　When Sara had passed the house next door she had seen Ram Dassclosing the shutters, and caught her glimpse of this room also."It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside," wasthe thought which crossed her mind.There was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate, and theIndian gentleman was sitting before it. His head was resting inhis hand, and he looked as lonely and unhappy as ever."Poor man!" said Sara. "I wonder what you are supposing."And this was what he was "supposing" at that very moment."Suppose," he was thinking, "suppose--even if Carmichael tracesthe people to Moscow--the little girl they took from MadamePascal's school in Paris is not the one we are in search of.Suppose she proves to be quite a different child. What stepsshall I take next?"When Sara went into the house she met Miss Minchin, who had comedownstairs to scold the cook."Where have you wasted your time?" she demanded. "You have beenout for hours.""It was so wet and muddy," Sara answered, "it was hard to walk,because my shoes were so bad and slipped about.""Make no excuses," said Miss Minchin, "and tell no falsehoods."Sara went in to the cook. The cook had received a severelecture and was in a fearful temper as a result. She was onlytoo rejoiced to have someone to vent her rage on, and Sara was aconvenience, as usual."Why didn't you stay all night?" she snapped.Sara laid her purchases on the table."Here are the things," she said.The cook looked them over, grumbling. She was in a very savagehumor indeed."May I have something to eat?" Sara asked rather faintly."Tea's over and done with," was the answer. "Did you expect meto keep it hot for you?"Sara stood silent for a second."I had no dinner," she said next, and her voice was quite low.She made it low because she was afraid it would tremble."There's some bread in the pantry," said the cook. "That's allyou'll get at this time of day."Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. Thecook was in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat withit. It was always safe and easy to vent her spite on Sara.Really, it was hard for the child to climb the three longflights of stairs leading to her attic. She often found themlong and steep when she was tired; but tonight it seemed as ifshe would never reach the top. Several times she was obliged tostop to rest. When she reached the top landing she was glad tosee the glimmer of a light coming from under her door. Thatmeant that Ermengarde had managed to creep up to pay her a visit.There was some comfort in that. It was better than to go intothe room alone and find it empty and desolate. The mere presenceof plump, comfortable Ermengarde, wrapped in her red shawl, wouldwarm it a little.Yes; there Ermengarde was when she opened the door. She wassitting in the middle of the bed, with her feet tucked safelyunder her. She had never become intimate with Melchisedec andhis family, though they rather fascinated her. When she foundherself alone in the attic she always preferred to sit on the beduntil Sara arrived. She had, in fact, on this occasion had timeto become rather nervous, because Melchisedec had appeared andsniffed about a good deal, and once had made her utter arepressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and, while helooked at her, sniffing pointedly in her direction."Oh, Sara," she cried out, "I am glad you have come. Melchywould sniff about so. I tried to coax him to go back, but hewouldn't for such a long time. I like him, you know; but it doesfrighten me when he sniffs right at me. Do you think he everwould jump?""No," answered Sara.Ermengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her."You do look tired, Sara," she said; "you are quite pale.""I am tired," said Sara, dropping on to the lopsided footstool."Oh, there's Melchisedec, poor thing. He's come to ask for hissupper."Melchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been listeningfor her footstep. Sara was quite sure he knew it. He cameforward with an affectionate, expectant expression as Sara puther hand in her pocket and turned it inside out, shaking herhead."I'm very sorry," she said. "I haven't one crumb left. Gohome, Melchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing in mypocket. I'm afraid I forgot because the cook and Miss Minchinwere so cross."Melchisedec seemed to understand. He shuffled resignedly, if notcontentedly, back to his home."I did not expect to see you tonight, Ermie," Sara said.Ermengarde hugged herself in the red shawl."Miss Amelia has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt,"she explained. "No one else ever comes and looks into thebedrooms after we are in bed. I could stay here until morning ifI wanted to."She pointed toward the table under the skylight. Sara had notlooked toward it as she came in. A number of books were piledupon it. Ermengarde's gesture was a dejected one."Papa has sent me some more books, Sara," she said. "There theyare."Sara looked round and got up at once. She ran to the table, andpicking up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. Forthe moment she forgot her discomforts."Ah," she cried out, "how beautiful! Carlyle's FrenchRevolution. I have so wanted to read that!""I haven't," said Ermengarde. "And papa will be so cross if Idon't. He'll expect me to know all about it when I go home forthe holidays. What shall I do?"Sara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with anexcited flush on her cheeks."Look here," she cried, "if you'll lend me these books, _I'll_read them--and tell you everything that's in them afterward-- andI'll tell it so that you will remember it, too.""Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Ermengarde. "Do you think you can?""I know I can," Sara answered. "The little ones always rememberwhat I tell them.""Sara," said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round face, "ifyou'll do that, and make me remember, I'll--I'll give youanything.""I don't want you to give me anything," said Sara. "I want yourbooks--I want them!" And her eyes grew big, and her chestheaved."Take them, then," said Ermengarde. "I wish I wanted them--butI don't. I'm not clever, and my father is, and he thinks I oughtto be."Sara was opening one book after the other. "What are you goingto tell your father?" she asked, a slight doubt dawning in hermind."Oh, he needn't know," answered Ermengarde. "He'll think I'veread them."Sara put down her book and shook her head slowly. "That'salmost like telling lies," she said. "And lies--well, you see,they are not only wicked--they're vulgar. Sometimes"--reflectively--"I've thought perhaps I might do something wicked--I might suddenly fly into a rage and kill Miss Minchin, you know,when she was ill-treating me--but I couldn't be vulgar. Whycan't you tell your father _I_ read them?""He wants me to read them," said Ermengarde, a littlediscouraged by this unexpected turn of affairs."He wants you to know what is in them," said Sara. "And if Ican tell it to you in an easy way and make you remember it, Ishould think he would like that.""He'll like it if I learn anything in any way," said ruefulErmengarde. "You would if you were my father.""It's not your fault that--" began Sara. She pulled herself upand stopped rather suddenly. She had been going to say, "It'snot your fault that you are stupid.""That what?" Ermengarde asked."That you can't learn things quickly," amended Sara. "If youcan't, you can't. If I can--why, I can; that's all."She always felt very tender of Ermengarde, and tried not to lether feel too strongly the difference between being able to learnanything at once, and not being able to learn anything at all.As she looked at her plump face, one of her wise, old-fashionedthoughts came to her."Perhaps," she said, "to be able to learn things quickly isn'teverything. To be kind is worth a great deal to other people.If Miss Minchin knew everything on earth and was like what sheis now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody wouldhate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and have beenwicked. Look at Robespierre--"She stopped and examined Ermengarde's countenance, which wasbeginning to look bewildered. "Don't you remember?" shedemanded. "I told you about him not long ago. I believe you'veforgotten.""Well, I don't remember all of it," admitted Ermengarde."Well, you wait a minute," said Sara, "and I'll take off my wetthings and wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you over again."She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail againstthe wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old pair ofslippers. Then she jumped on the bed, and drawing the coverletabout her shoulders, sat with her arms round her knees. "Now,listen," she said.She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, andtold such stories of it that Ermengarde's eyes grew round withalarm and she held her breath. But though she was ratherterrified, there was a delightful thrill in listening, and shewas not likely to forget Robespierre again, or to have any doubtsabout the Princesse de Lamballe."You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it," Saraexplained. "And she had beautiful floating blonde hair; and whenI think of her, I never see her head on her body, but always on apike, with those furious people dancing and howling."It was agreed that Mr. St. John was to be told the plan they hadmade, and for the present the books were to be left in the attic."Now let's tell each other things," said Sara. "How are yougetting on with your French lessons?""Ever so much better since the last time I came up here and youexplained the conjugations. Miss Minchin could not understandwhy I did my exercises so well that first morning."Sara laughed a little and hugged her knees."She doesn't understand why Lottie is doing her sums so well,"she said; "but it is because she creeps up here, too, and I helpher." She glanced round the room. "The attic would be rathernice--if it wasn't so dreadful," she said, laughing again. "It'sa good place to pretend in."The truth was that Ermengarde did not know anything of thesometimes almost unbearable side of life in the attic and shehad not a sufficiently vivid imagination to depict it forherself. On the rare occasions that she could reach Sara's roomshe only saw the side of it which was made exciting by thingswhich were "pretended" and stories which were told. Her visitspartook of the character of adventures; and though sometimes Saralooked rather pale, and it was not to be denied that she hadgrown very thin, her proud little spirit would not admit ofcomplaints. She had never confessed that at times she was almostravenous with hunger, as she was tonight. She was growingrapidly, and her constant walking and running about would havegiven her a keen appetite even if she had had abundant andregular meals of a much more nourishing nature than theunappetizing, inferior food snatched at such odd times as suitedthe kitchen convenience. She was growing used to a certaingnawing feeling in her young stomach."I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long andweary march," she often said to herself. She liked the sound ofthe phrase, "long and weary march." It made her feel rather likea soldier. She had also a quaint sense of being a hostess in theattic."If I lived in a castle," she argued, "and Ermengarde was thelady of another castle, and came to see me, with knights andsquires and vassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when Iheard the clarions sounding outside the drawbridge I should godown to receive her, and I should spread feasts in the banquethall and call in minstrels to sing and play and relate romances.When she comes into the attic I can't spread feasts, but I cantell stories, and not let her know disagreeable things. I daresay poor chatelaines had to do that in time of famine, when theirlands had been pillaged." She was a proud, brave littlechatelaine, and dispensed generously the one hospitality shecould offer--the dreams she dreamed--the visions she saw--theimaginings which were her joy and comfort.So, as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that she wasfaint as well as ravenous, and that while she talked she now andthen wondered if her hunger would let her sleep when she was leftalone. She felt as if she had never been quite so hungry before."I wish I was as thin as you, Sara," Ermengarde said suddenly."I believe you are thinner than you used to be. Your eyes lookso big, and look at the sharp little bones sticking out of yourelbow!"Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up."I always was a thin child," she said bravely, "and I always hadbig green eyes.""I love your queer eyes," said Ermengarde, looking into them withaffectionate admiration. "They always look as if they saw such along way. I love them--and I love them to be green--though theylook black generally.""They are cat's eyes," laughed Sara; "but I can't see in thedark with them--because I have tried, and I couldn't--I wish Icould."It was just at this minute that something happened at theskylight which neither of them saw. If either of them hadchanced to turn and look, she would have been startled by thesight of a dark face which peered cautiously into the room anddisappeared as quickly and almost as silently as it had appeared.Not quite as silently, however. Sara, who had keen ears,suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof."That didn't sound like Melchisedec," she said. "It wasn'tscratchy enough.""What?" said Ermengarde, a little startled."Didn't you think you heard something?" asked Sara."N-no," Ermengarde faltered. "Did you?" {another ed. has "No-no,"}"Perhaps I didn't," said Sara; "but I thought I did. It soundedas if something was on the slates--something that draggedsoftly.""What could it be?" said Ermengarde. "Could it be--robbers?""No," Sara began cheerfully. "There is nothing to steal--"She broke off in the middle of her words. They both heard thesound that checked her. It was not on the slates, but on thestairs below, and it was Miss Minchin's angry voice. Sara sprangoff the bed, and put out the candle."She is scolding Becky," she whispered, as she stood in thedarkness. "She is making her cry.""Will she come in here?" Ermengarde whispered back, panic-stricken."No. She will think I am in bed. Don't stir."It was very seldom that Miss Minchin mounted the last flight ofstairs. Sara could only remember that she had done it oncebefore. But now she was angry enough to be coming at least partof the way up, and it sounded as if she was driving Becky beforeher."You impudent, dishonest child!" they heard her say. "Cooktells me she has missed things repeatedly.""'T warn't me, mum," said Becky sobbing. "I was 'ungry enough,but 't warn't me--never!""You deserve to be sent to prison," said Miss Minchin's voice."Picking and stealing! Half a meat pie, indeed!""'T warn't me," wept Becky. "I could 'ave eat a whole un--but Inever laid a finger on it."Miss Minchin was out of breath between temper and mounting thestairs. The meat pie had been intended for her special latesupper. It became apparent that she boxed Becky's ears."Don't tell falsehoods," she said. "Go to your room thisinstant."Both Sara and Ermengarde heard the slap, and then heard Becky runin her slipshod shoes up the stairs and into her attic. Theyheard her door shut, and knew that she threw herself upon herbed."I could 'ave e't two of 'em," they heard her cry into herpillow. "An' I never took a bite. 'Twas cook give it to herpoliceman."Sara stood in the middle of the room in the darkness. She wasclenching her little teeth and opening and shutting fiercely heroutstretched hands. She could scarcely stand still, but shedared not move until Miss Minchin had gone down the stairs andall was still."The wicked, cruel thing!" she burst forth. "The cook takesthings herself and then says Becky steals them. She doesn't!She doesn't! She's so hungry sometimes that she eats crusts outof the ash barrel!" She pressed her hands hard against her faceand burst into passionate little sobs, and Ermengarde, hearingthis unusual thing, was overawed by it. Sara was crying! Theunconquerable Sara! It seemed to denote something new--some moodshe had never known. Suppose--suppose--a new dread possibilitypresented itself to her kind, slow, little mind all at once. Shecrept off the bed in the dark and found her way to the tablewhere the candle stood. She struck a match and lit the candle.When she had lighted it, she bent forward and looked at Sara,with her new thought growing to definite fear in her eyes."Sara," she said in a timid, almost awe-stricken voice, are--are--you never told me--I don't want to be rude, but--are you everhungry?"It was too much just at that moment. The barrier broke down.Sara lifted her face from her hands."Yes," she said in a new passionate way. "Yes, I am. I'm sohungry now that I could almost eat you. And it makes it worse tohear poor Becky. She's hungrier than I am."Ermengarde gasped."Oh, oh!" she cried woefully. "And I never knew!""I didn't want you to know," Sara said. "It would have made mefeel like a street beggar. I know I look like a street beggar.""No, you don't--you don't!" Ermengarde broke in. "Your clothesare a little queer--but you couldn't look like a street beggar.You haven't a street-beggar face.""A little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity," said Sara,with a short little laugh in spite of herself. "Here it is."And she pulled out the thin ribbon from her neck. "He wouldn'thave given me his Christmas sixpence if I hadn't looked as if Ineeded it."Somehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good for bothof them. It made them laugh a little, though they both hadtears in their eyes."Who was he?" asked Ermengarde, looking at it quite as if it hadnot been a mere ordinary silver sixpence."He was a darling little thing going to a party," said Sara. "Hewas one of the Large Family, the little one with the round legs--the one I call Guy Clarence. I suppose his nursery was crammedwith Christmas presents and hampers full of cakes and things,and he could see I had nothing."Ermengarde gave a little jump backward. The last sentences hadrecalled something to her troubled mind and given her a suddeninspiration."Oh, Sara!" she cried. "What a silly thing I am not to havethought of it!""Of what?""Something splendid!" said Ermengarde, in an excited hurry."This very afternoon my nicest aunt sent me a box. It is fullof good things. I never touched it, I had so much pudding atdinner, and I was so bothered about papa's books." Her wordsbegan to tumble over each other. "It's got cake in it, andlittle meat pies, and jam tarts and buns, and oranges and red-currant wine, and figs and chocolate. I'll creep back to my roomand get it this minute, and we'll eat it now."Sara almost reeled. When one is faint with hunger the mentionof food has sometimes a curious effect. She clutchedErmengarde's arm."Do you think--you could?" she ejaculated."I know I could," answered Ermengarde, and she ran to the door--opened it softly--put her head out into the darkness, andlistened. Then she went back to Sara. "The lights are out.Everybody's in bed. I can creep--and creep--and no one willhear."It was so delightful that they caught each other's hands and asudden light sprang into Sara's eyes."Ermie!" she said. "Let us pretend! Let us pretend it's aparty! And oh, won't you invite the prisoner in the next cell?""Yes! Yes! Let us knock on the wall now. The jailer won'thear."Sara went to the wall. Through it she could hear poor Beckycrying more softly. She knocked four times."That means, `Come to me through the secret passage under thewall,' she explained. `I have something to communicate.'"Five quick knocks answered her."She is coming," she said.Almost immediately the door of the attic opened and Beckyappeared. Her eyes were red and her cap was sliding off, andwhen she caught sight of Ermengarde she began to rub her facenervously with her apron."Don't mind me a bit, Becky!" cried Ermengarde."Miss Ermengarde has asked you to come in," said Sara, "becauseshe is going to bring a box of good things up here to us."Becky's cap almost fell off entirely, she broke in with suchexcitement."To eat, miss?" she said. "Things that's good to eat?""Yes," answered Sara, "and we are going to pretend a party.""And you shall have as much as you want to eat," put inErmengarde. "I'll go this minute!"She was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic shedropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen. No onesaw it for a minute or so. Becky was too much overpowered by thegood luck which had befallen her."Oh, miss! oh, miss!" she gasped; "I know it was you that askedher to let me come. It--it makes me cry to think of it." Andshe went to Sara's side and stood and looked at her worshipingly.But in Sara's hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow andtransform her world for her. Here in the attic--with the coldnight outside-- with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barelypassed--with the memory of the awful unfed look in the beggarchild's eyes not yet faded--this simple, cheerful thing hadhappened like a thing of magic.She caught her breath."Somehow, something always happens," she cried, "just beforethings get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. IfI could only just remember that always. The worst thing neverquite comes."She gave Becky a little cheerful shake."No, no! You mustn't cry!" she said. "We must make haste andset the table.""Set the table, miss?" said Becky, gazing round the room."What'll we set it with?"Sara looked round the attic, too."There doesn't seem to be much," she answered, half laughing.That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. It wasErmengarde's red shawl which lay upon the floor."Here's the shawl," she cried. "I know she won't mind it. Itwill make such a nice red tablecloth."They pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl over it.Red is a wonderfully kind and comfortable color. It began tomake the room look furnished directly."How nice a red rug would look on the floor!" exclaimed Sara."We must pretend there is one!"Her eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration.The rug was laid down already."How soft and thick it is!" she said, with the little laugh whichBecky knew the meaning of; and she raised and set her foot downagain delicately, as if she felt something under it."Yes, miss," answered Becky, watching her with serious rapture.She was always quite serious."What next, now?" said Sara, and she stood still and put herhands over her eyes. "Something will come if I think and wait alittle"--in a soft, expectant voice. "The Magic will tell me."One of her favorite fancies was that on "the outside," as shecalled it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Beckyhad seen her stand and wait many a time before, and knew that ina few seconds she would uncover an enlightened, laughing face.In a moment she did."There!" she cried. "It has come! I know now! I must lookamong the things in the old trunk I had when I was a princess."She flew to its corner and kneeled down. It had not been put inthe attic for her benefit, but because there was no room for itelsewhere. Nothing had been left in it but rubbish. But sheknew she should find something. The Magic always arranged thatkind of thing in one way or another.In a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking that it hadbeen overlooked, and when she herself had found it she had keptit as a relic. It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs.She seized them joyfully and ran to the table. She began toarrange them upon the red table-cover, patting and coaxing theminto shape with the narrow lace edge curling outward, her Magicworking its spells for her as she did it."These are the plates," she said. "They are golden plates.These are the richly embroidered napkins. Nuns worked them inconvents in Spain.""Did they, miss?" breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by theinformation."You must pretend it," said Sara. "If you pretend it enough, youwill see them.""Yes, miss," said Becky; and as Sara returned to the trunk shedevoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much tobe desired.Sara turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, lookingvery queer indeed. She had shut her eyes, and was twisting herface in strange convulsive contortions, her hands hanging stifflyclenched at her sides. She looked as if she was trying to liftsome enormous weight."What is the matter, Becky?" Sara cried. "What are you doing?"Becky opened her eyes with a start."I was a-'pretendin',' miss," she answered a little sheepishly; "Iwas tryin' to see it like you do. I almost did," with a hopefulgrin. "But it takes a lot o' stren'th.""Perhaps it does if you are not used to it," said Sara, withfriendly sympathy; "but you don't know how easy it is when you'vedone it often. I wouldn't try so hard just at first. It willcome to you after a while. I'll just tell you what things are.Look at these."She held an old summer hat in her hand which she had fished outof the bottom of the trunk. There was a wreath of flowers onit. She pulled the wreath off."These are garlands for the feast," she said grandly. "Theyfill all the air with perfume. There's a mug on the wash-stand,Becky. Oh--and bring the soap dish for a centerpiece."Becky handed them to her reverently."What are they now, miss?" she inquired. "You'd think they wasmade of crockery--but I know they ain't.""This is a carven flagon," said Sara, arranging tendrils of thewreath about the mug. "And this"--bending tenderly over the soapdish and heaping it with roses--"is purest alabaster encrustedwith gems."She touched the things gently, a happy smile hovering about herlips which made her look as if she were a creature in a dream."My, ain't it lovely!" whispered Becky."If we just had something for bonbon dishes," Sara murmured."There!"--darting to the trunk again. "I remember I sawsomething this minute."It was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissuepaper, but the tissue paper was soon twisted into the form oflittle dishes, and was combined with the remaining flowers toornament the candlestick which was to light the feast. Only theMagic could have made it more than an old table covered with ared shawl and set with rubbish from a long-unopened trunk. ButSara drew back and gazed at it, seeing wonders; and Becky, afterstaring in delight, spoke with bated breath."This 'ere," she suggested, with a glance round the attic--"isit the Bastille now--or has it turned into somethin' different?""Oh, yes, yes!" said Sara. "Quite different. It is a banquethall!""My eye, miss!" ejaculated Becky. "A blanket 'all!" and sheturned to view the splendors about her with awed bewilderment."A banquet hall," said Sara. "A vast chamber where feasts aregiven. It has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels' gallery, and ahuge chimney filled with blazing oaken logs, and it is brilliantwith waxen tapers twinkling on every side.""My eye, Miss Sara!" gasped Becky again.Then the door opened, and Ermengarde came in, rather staggeringunder the weight of her hamper. She started back with anexclamation of joy. To enter from the chill darkness outside,and find one's self confronted by a totally unanticipated festalboard, draped with red, adorned with white napery, and wreathedwith flowers, was to feel that the preparations were brilliantindeed."Oh, Sara!" she cried out. "You are the cleverest girl I eversaw!""Isn't it nice?" said Sara. "They are things out of my oldtrunk. I asked my Magic, and it told me to go and look.""But oh, miss," cried Becky, "wait till she's told you what theyare! They ain't just--oh, miss, please tell her," appealing toSara.So Sara told her, and because her Magic helped her she made heralmost see it all: the golden platters--the vaulted spaces--theblazing logs--the twinkling waxen tapers. As the things weretaken out of the hamper--the frosted cakes--the fruits--thebonbons and the wine--the feast became a splendid thing."It's like a real party!" cried Ermengarde."It's like a queen's table," sighed Becky.Then Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought."I'll tell you what, Sara," she said. "Pretend you are aprincess now and this is a royal feast.""But it's your feast," said Sara; "you must be the princess, andwe will be your maids of honor.""Oh, I can't," said Ermengarde. "I'm too fat, and I don't knowhow. You be her.""Well, if you want me to," said Sara.But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rustygrate."There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!" sheexclaimed. "If we light it, there will be a bright blaze for afew minutes, and we shall feel as if it was a real fire." Shestruck a match and lighted it up with a great specious glow whichilluminated the room."By the time it stops blazing," Sara said, "we shall forgetabout its not being real."She stood in the dancing glow and smiled."Doesn't it look real?" she said. "Now we will begin theparty."She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously toErmengarde and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream."Advance, fair damsels," she said in her happy dream-voice, "andbe seated at the banquet table. My noble father, the king, whois absent on a long journey, has commanded me to feast you." Sheturned her head slightly toward the corner of the room. "What,ho, there, minstrels! Strike up with your viols and bassoons.Princesses," she explained rapidly to Ermengarde and Becky,"always had minstrels to play at their feasts. Pretend there isa minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we will begin."They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into theirhands--not one of them had time to do more, when--they all threesprang to their feet and turned pale faces toward the door--listening--listening.Someone was coming up the stairs. There was no mistake aboutit. Each of them recognized the angry, mounting tread and knewthat the end of all things had come."It's--the missus!" choked Becky, and dropped her piece of cakeupon the floor."Yes," said Sara, her eyes growing shocked and large in hersmall white face. "Miss Minchin has found us out."Miss Minchin struck the door open with a blow of her hand. Shewas pale herself, but it was with rage. She looked from thefrightened faces to the banquet table, and from the banquettable to the last flicker of the burnt paper in the grate."I have been suspecting something of this sort," she exclaimed;"but I did not dream of such audacity. Lavinia was telling thetruth."So they knew that it was Lavinia who had somehow guessed theirsecret and had betrayed them. Miss Minchin strode over to Beckyand boxed her ears for a second time."You impudent creature!" she said. "You leave the house in themorning!"Sara stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face paler.Ermengarde burst into tears."Oh, don't send her away," she sobbed. "My aunt sent me thehamper. We're--only--having a party.""So I see," said Miss Minchin, witheringly. "With the PrincessSara at the head of the table." She turned fiercely on Sara."It is your doing, I know," she cried. "Ermengarde would neverhave thought of such a thing. You decorated the table, Isuppose--with this rubbish." She stamped her foot at Becky."Go to your attic!" she commanded, and Becky stole away, her facehidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking.Then it was Sara's turn again."I will attend to you tomorrow. You shall have neitherbreakfast, dinner, nor supper!""I have not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Minchin,"said Sara, rather faintly."Then all the better. You will have something to remember.Don't stand there. Put those things into the hamper again."She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself,and caught sight of Ermengarde's new books."And you"--to Ermengarde--"have brought your beautiful new booksinto this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. Youwill stay there all day tomorrow, and I shall write to your papa.What would he say if he knew where you are tonight?"Something she saw in Sara's grave, fixed gaze at this momentmade her turn on her fiercely."What are you thinking of?" she demanded. "Why do you look atme like that?""I was wondering," answered Sara, as she had answered thatnotable day in the schoolroom."What were you wondering?"It was very like the scene in the schoolroom. There was nopertness in Sara's manner. It was only sad and quiet."I was wondering," she said in a low voice, "what my papa wouldsay if he knew where I am tonight."Miss Minchin was infuriated just as she had been before and heranger expressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion.She flew at her and shook her."You insolent, unmanageable child!" she cried. "How dare you!How dare you!"She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back intothe hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Ermengarde's arms,and pushed her before her toward the door."I will leave you to wonder," she said. "Go to bed thisinstant." And she shut the door behind herself and poorstumbling Ermengarde, and left Sara standing quite alone.The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died out ofthe paper in the grate and left only black tinder; the table wasleft bare, the golden plates and richly embroidered napkins, andthe garlands were transformed again into old handkerchiefs,scraps of red and white paper, and discarded artificial flowersall scattered on the floor; the minstrels in the minstrel galleryhad stolen away, and the viols and bassoons were still. Emilywas sitting with her back against the wall, staring very hard.Sara saw her, and went and picked her up with trembling hands."There isn't any banquet left, Emily," she said. "And thereisn't any princess. There is nothing left but the prisoners inthe Bastille." And she sat down and hid her face.What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then, andif she had chanced to look up at the skylight at the wrongmoment, I do not know--perhaps the end of this chapter might havebeen quite different--because if she had glanced at the skylightshe would certainly have been startled by what she would haveseen. She would have seen exactly the same face pressed againstthe glass and peering in at her as it had peered in earlier inthe evening when she had been talking to Ermengarde.But she did not look up. She sat with her little black head inher arms for some time. She always sat like that when she wastrying to bear something in silence. Then she got up and wentslowly to the bed."I can't pretend anything else--while I am awake," she said."There wouldn't be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhapsa dream will come and pretend for me."She suddenly felt so tired--perhaps through want of food--thatshe sat down on the edge of the bed quite weakly."Suppose there was a bright fire in the grate, with lots oflittle dancing flames," she murmured. "Suppose there was acomfortable chair before it--and suppose there was a small tablenear, with a little hot--hot supper on it. And suppose"--as shedrew the thin coverings over her--"suppose this was a beautifulsoft bed, with fleecy blankets and large downy pillows. Suppose--suppose--" And her very weariness was good to her, for her eyesclosed and she fell fast asleep.She did not know how long she slept. But she had been tiredenough to sleep deeply and profoundly--too deeply and soundly tobe disturbed by anything, even by the squeaks and scamperings ofMelchisedec's entire family, if all his sons and daughters hadchosen to come out of their hole to fight and tumble and play.When she awakened it was rather suddenly, and she did not knowthat any particular thing had called her out of her sleep. Thetruth was, however, that it was a sound which had called herback--a real sound--the click of the skylight as it fell inclosing after a lithe white figure which slipped through it andcrouched down close by upon the slates of the roof--just nearenough to see what happened in the attic, but not near enough tobe seen.At first she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy and--curiously enough--too warm and comfortable. She was so warm andcomfortable, indeed, that she did not believe she was reallyawake. She never was as warm and cozy as this except in somelovely vision."What a nice dream!" she murmured. "I feel quite warm. I--don't--want--to--wake--up."Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightfulbedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually feelblankets, and when she put out her hand it touched somethingexactly like a satin-covered eider-down quilt. She must notawaken from this delight--she must be quite still and make itlast.But she could not--even though she kept her eyes closed tightly,she could not. Something was forcing her to awaken--somethingin the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound--the sound ofa crackling, roaring little fire."Oh, I am awakening," she said mournfully. "I can't help it--Ican't."Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actuallysmiled--for what she saw she had never seen in the attic before,and knew she never should see."Oh, I haven't awakened," she whispered, daring to rise on herelbow and look all about her. "I am dreaming yet." She knew itmust be a dream, for if she were awake such things could not--could not be.Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth?This is what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazingfire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling;spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before thefire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by thechair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a whitecloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer,a teapot; on the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covereddown quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair ofquilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream seemedchanged into fairyland--and it was flooded with warm light, fora bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade.She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came shortand fast."It does not--melt away," she panted. "Oh, I never had such adream before." She scarcely dared to stir; but at last shepushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with arapturous smile."I am dreaming--I am getting out of bed," she heard her own voicesay; and then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turningslowly from side to side--"I am dreaming it stays--real! I'mdreaming it feels real. It's bewitched--or I'm bewitched. Ionly think I see it all." Her words began to hurry themselves."If I can only keep on thinking it," she cried, "I don't care! Idon't care!"She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again."Oh, it isn't true!" she said. "It can't be true! But oh, howtrue it seems!"The blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and held outher hands close to it--so close that the heat made her startback."A fire I only dreamed wouldn't be hot," she cried.She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she wentto the bed and touched the blankets. She took up the softwadded dressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast andheld it to her cheek."It's warm. It's soft!" she almost sobbed. "It's real. It mustbe!"She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into theslippers."They are real, too. It's all real!" she cried. "I am not--Iam not dreaming!"She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which layupon the top. Something was written on the flyleaf--just a fewwords, and they were these:"To the little girl in the attic. From a friend."When she saw that--wasn't it a strange thing for her to do-- sheput her face down upon the page and burst into tears."I don't know who it is," she said; "but somebody cares for me alittle. I have a friend."She took her candle and stole out of her own room and intoBecky's, and stood by her bedside."Becky, Becky!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. "Wakeup!"When Becky wakened, and she sat upright staring aghast, her facestill smudged with traces of tears, beside her stood a littlefigure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk. The face shesaw was a shining, wonderful thing. The Princess Sara--as sheremembered her--stood at her very bedside, holding a candle inher hand."Come," she said. "Oh, Becky, come!"Becky was too frightened to speak. She simply got up andfollowed her, with her mouth and eyes open, and without a word.And when they crossed the threshold, Sara shut the door gentlyand drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things which madeher brain reel and her hungry senses faint. "It's true! It'strue!" she cried. "I've touched them all. They are as real aswe are. The Magic has come and done it, Becky, while we wereasleep--the Magic that won't let those worst things ever quitehappen."