7. The Diamond Mines Again

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　When Sara entered the holly-hung schoolroom in the afternoon, shedid so as the head of a sort of procession. Miss Minchin, inher grandest silk dress, led her by the hand. A manservantfollowed, carrying the box containing the Last Doll, a housemaidcarried a second box, and Becky brought up the rear, carrying athird and wearing a clean apron and a new cap. Sara would havemuch preferred to enter in the usual way, but Miss Minchin hadsent for her, and, after an interview in her private sittingroom, had expressed her wishes."This is not an ordinary occasion," she said. "I do not desirethat it should be treated as one."So Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when, on her entry, thebig girls stared at her and touched each other's elbows, and thelittle ones began to squirm joyously in their seats."Silence, young ladies!" said Miss Minchin, at the murmur whicharose. "James, place the box on the table and remove the lid.Emma, put yours upon a chair. Becky!" suddenly and severely.Becky had quite forgotten herself in her excitement, and wasgrinning at Lottie, who was wriggling with rapturousexpectation. She almost dropped her box, the disapproving voiceso startled her, and her frightened, bobbing curtsy of apologywas so funny that Lavinia and Jessie tittered."It is not your place to look at the young ladies," said MissMinchin. "You forget yourself. Put your box down."Becky obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward thedoor."You may leave us," Miss Minchin announced to the servants with awave of her hand.Becky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servantsto pass out first. She could not help casting a longing glanceat the box on the table. Something made of blue satin waspeeping from between the folds of tissue paper."If you please, Miss Minchin," said Sara, suddenly, "mayn'tBecky stay?"It was a bold thing to do. Miss Minchin was betrayed intosomething like a slight jump. Then she put her eyeglass up, andgazed at her show pupil disturbedly."Becky!" she exclaimed. "My dearest Sara!"Sara advanced a step toward her."I want her because I know she will like to see the presents,"she explained. "She is a little girl, too, you know."Miss Minchin was scandalized. She glanced from one figure tothe other."My dear Sara," she said, "Becky is the scullery maid. Scullerymaids--er--are not little girls."It really had not occurred to her to think of them in thatlight. Scullery maids were machines who carried coal scuttlesand made fires."But Becky is," said Sara. "And I know she would enjoy herself.Please let her stay--because it is my birthday."Miss Minchin replied with much dignity:"As you ask it as a birthday favor--she may stay. Rebecca,thank Miss Sara for her great kindness."Becky had been backing into the corner, twisting the hem of herapron in delighted suspense. She came forward, bobbingcurtsies, but between Sara's eyes and her own there passed agleam of friendly understanding, while her words tumbled overeach other."Oh, if you please, miss! I'm that grateful, miss! I did wantto see the doll, miss, that I did. Thank you, miss. And thankyou, ma'am,"--turning and making an alarmed bob to Miss Minchin--"for letting me take the liberty."Miss Minchin waved her hand again--this time it was in thedirection of the corner near the door."Go and stand there," she commanded. "Not too near the youngladies."Becky went to her place, grinning. She did not care where shewas sent, so that she might have the luck of being inside theroom, instead of being downstairs in the scullery, while thesedelights were going on. She did not even mind when Miss Minchincleared her throat ominously and spoke again."Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you," sheannounced."She's going to make a speech," whispered one of the girls. "Iwish it was over."Sara felt rather uncomfortable. As this was her party, it wasprobable that the speech was about her. It is not agreeable tostand in a schoolroom and have a speech made about you."You are aware, young ladies," the speech began--for it was aspeech--"that dear Sara is eleven years old today.""Dear Sara!" murmured Lavinia."Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but Sara'sbirthdays are rather different from other little girls'birthdays. When she is older she will be heiress to a largefortune, which it will be her duty to spend in a meritoriousmanner.""The diamond mines," giggled Jessie, in a whisper.Sara did not hear her; but as she stood with her green-gray eyesfixed steadily on Miss Minchin, she felt herself growing ratherhot. When Miss Minchin talked about money, she felt somehow thatshe always hated her--and, of course, it was disrespectful tohate grown-up people."When her dear papa, Captain Crewe, brought her from India andgave her into my care," the speech proceeded, "he said to me, ina jesting way, `I am afraid she will be very rich, Miss Minchin.'My reply was, `Her education at my seminary, Captain Crewe, shallbe such as will adorn the largest fortune.' Sara has become mymost accomplished pupil. Her French and her dancing are a creditto the seminary. Her manners--which have caused you to call herPrincess Sara--are perfect. Her amiability she exhibits bygiving you this afternoon's party. I hope you appreciate hergenerosity. I wish you to express your appreciation of it bysaying aloud all together, `Thank you, Sara!'"The entire schoolroom rose to its feet as it had done themorning Sara remembered so well."Thank you, Sara!" it said, and it must be confessed that Lottiejumped up and down. Sara looked rather shy for a moment. Shemade a curtsy--and it was a very nice one."Thank you," she said, "for coming to my party.""Very pretty, indeed, Sara," approved Miss Minchin. "That iswhat a real princess does when the populace applauds her.Lavinia"--scathingly--"the sound you just made was extremelylike a snort. If you are jealous of your fellow-pupil, I beg youwill express your feelings in some more lady-like manner. NowI will leave you to enjoy yourselves."The instant she had swept out of the room the spell her presencealways had upon them was broken. The door had scarcely closedbefore every seat was empty. The little girls jumped or tumbledout of theirs; the older ones wasted no time in desertingtheirs. There was a rush toward the boxes. Sara had bent overone of them with a delighted face."These are books, I know," she said.The little children broke into a rueful murmur, and Ermengardelooked aghast."Does your papa send you books for a birthday present?" sheexclaimed. "Why, he's as bad as mine. Don't open them, Sara.""I like them," Sara laughed, but she turned to the biggest box.When she took out the Last Doll it was so magnificent that thechildren uttered delighted groans of joy, and actually drew backto gaze at it in breathless rapture."She is almost as big as Lottie," someone gasped.Lottie clapped her hands and danced about, giggling."She's dressed for the theater," said Lavinia. "Her cloak islined with ermine.""Oh," cried Ermengarde, darting forward, "she has an opera-glassin her hand--a blue-and-gold one!""Here is her trunk," said Sara. "Let us open it and look at herthings."She sat down upon the floor and turned the key. The childrencrowded clamoring around her, as she lifted tray after tray andrevealed their contents. Never had the schoolroom been in suchan uproar. There were lace collars and silk stockings andhandkerchiefs; there was a jewel case containing a necklace and atiara which looked quite as if they were made of real diamonds;there was a long sealskin and muff, there were ball dresses andwalking dresses and visiting dresses; there were hats and teagowns and fans. Even Lavinia and Jessie forgot that they weretoo elderly to care for dolls, and uttered exclamations ofdelight and caught up things to look at them."Suppose," Sara said, as she stood by the table, putting alarge, black-velvet hat on the impassively smiling owner of allthese splendors--"suppose she understands human talk and feelsproud of being admired.""You are always supposing things," said Lavinia, and her air wasvery superior."I know I am," answered Sara, undisturbedly. "I like it. Thereis nothing so nice as supposing. It's almost like being a fairy.If you suppose anything hard enough it seems as if it werereal.""It's all very well to suppose things if you have everything,"said Lavinia. "Could you suppose and pretend if you were abeggar and lived in a garret?"Sara stopped arranging the Last Doll's ostrich plumes, and lookedthoughtful."I believe I could," she said. "If one was a beggar, one wouldhave to suppose and pretend all the time. But it mightn't beeasy."She often thought afterward how strange it was that just as shehad finished saying this--just at that very moment--Miss Ameliacame into the room."Sara," she said, "your papa's solicitor, Mr. Barrow, has calledto see Miss Minchin, and, as she must talk to him alone and therefreshments are laid in her parlor, you had all better come andhave your feast now, so that my sister can have her interviewhere in the schoolroom."Refreshments were not likely to be disdained at any hour, andmany pairs of eyes gleamed. Miss Amelia arranged the processioninto decorum, and then, with Sara at her side heading it, she ledit away, leaving the Last Doll sitting upon a chair with theglories of her wardrobe scattered about her; dresses and coatshung upon chair backs, piles of lace-frilled petticoats lyingupon their seats.Becky, who was not expected to partake of refreshments, had theindiscretion to linger a moment to look at these beauties--itreally was an indiscretion."Go back to your work, Becky," Miss Amelia had said; but she hadstopped to pick up reverently first a muff and then a coat, andwhile she stood looking at them adoringly, she heard Miss Minchinupon the threshold, and, being smitten with terror at the thoughtof being accused of taking liberties, she rashly darted under thetable, which hid her by its tablecloth.Miss Minchin came into the room, accompanied by a sharp-featured, dry little gentleman, who looked rather disturbed.Miss Minchin herself also looked rather disturbed, it must beadmitted, and she gazed at the dry little gentleman with anirritated and puzzled expression.She sat down with stiff dignity, and waved him to a chair."Pray, be seated, Mr. Barrow," she said.Mr. Barrow did not sit down at once. His attention seemedattracted by the Last Doll and the things which surrounded her.He settled his eyeglasses and looked at them in nervousdisapproval. The Last Doll herself did not seem to mind this inthe least. She merely sat upright and returned his gazeindifferently."A hundred pounds," Mr. Barrow remarked succinctly. "Allexpensive material, and made at a Parisian modiste's. He spentmoney lavishly enough, that young man."Miss Minchin felt offended. This seemed to be a disparagement ofher best patron and was a liberty.Even solicitors had no right to take liberties."I beg your pardon, Mr. Barrow," she said stiffly. "I do notunderstand.""Birthday presents," said Mr. Barrow in the same criticalmanner, "to a child eleven years old! Mad extravagance, I callit."Miss Minchin drew herself up still more rigidly."Captain Crewe is a man of fortune," she said. "The diamondmines alone--"Mr. Barrow wheeled round upon her. "Diamond mines!" he brokeout. "There are none! Never were!"Miss Minchin actually got up from her chair."What!" she cried. "What do you mean?""At any rate," answered Mr. Barrow, quite snappishly, "it wouldhave been much better if there never had been any.""Any diamond mines?" ejaculated Miss Minchin, catching at theback of a chair and feeling as if a splendid dream was fadingaway from her."Diamond mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth," saidMr. Barrow. "When a man is in the hands of a very dear friendand is not a businessman himself, he had better steer clear ofthe dear friend's diamond mines, or gold mines, or any other kindof mines dear friends want his money to put into. The lateCaptain Crewe--"Here Miss Minchin stopped him with a gasp."The late Captain Crewe!" she cried out. "The late! You don'tcome to tell me that Captain Crewe is--""He's dead, ma'am," Mr. Barrow answered with jerky brusqueness."Died of jungle fever and business troubles combined. Thejungle fever might not have killed him if he had not been drivenmad by the business troubles, and the business troubles might nothave put an end to him if the jungle fever had not assisted.Captain Crewe is dead!"Miss Minchin dropped into her chair again. The words he hadspoken filled her with alarm."What were his business troubles?" she said. "What were they?""Diamond mines," answered Mr. Barrow, "and dear friends--andruin."Miss Minchin lost her breath."Ruin!" she gasped out."Lost every penny. That young man had too much money. The dearfriend was mad on the subject of the diamond mine. He put allhis own money into it, and all Captain Crewe's. Then the dearfriend ran away--Captain Crewe was already stricken with feverwhen the news came. The shock was too much for him. He dieddelirious, raving about his little girl--and didn't leave apenny."Now Miss Minchin understood, and never had she received such ablow in her life. Her show pupil, her show patron, swept awayfrom the Select Seminary at one blow. She felt as if she hadbeen outraged and robbed, and that Captain Crewe and Sara and Mr.Barrow were equally to blame."Do you mean to tell me," she cried out, "that he left nothing!That Sara will have no fortune! That the child is a beggar!That she is left on my hands a little pauper instead of anheiress?"Mr. Barrow was a shrewd businessman, and felt it as well to makehis own freedom from responsibility quite clear without anydelay."She is certainly left a beggar," he replied. "And she iscertainly left on your hands, ma'am--as she hasn't a relation inthe world that we know of."Miss Minchin started forward. She looked as if she was going toopen the door and rush out of the room to stop the festivitiesgoing on joyfully and rather noisily that moment over therefreshments."It is monstrous!" she said. "She's in my sitting room at thismoment, dressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, giving a partyat my expense.""She's giving it at your expense, madam, if she's giving it,"said Mr. Barrow, calmly. "Barrow & Skipworth are notresponsible for anything. There never was a cleaner sweep madeof a man's fortune. Captain Crewe died without paying our lastbill--and it was a big one."Miss Minchin turned back from the door in increased indignation.This was worse than anyone could have dreamed of its being."That is what has happened to me!" she cried. "I was always sosure of his payments that I went to all sorts of ridiculousexpenses for the child. I paid the bills for that ridiculousdoll and her ridiculous fantastic wardrobe. The child was tohave anything she wanted. She has a carriage and a pony and amaid, and I've paid for all of them since the last cheque came."Mr. Barrow evidently did not intend to remain to listen to thestory of Miss Minchin's grievances after he had made theposition of his firm clear and related the mere dry facts. Hedid not feel any particular sympathy for irate keepers ofboarding schools."You had better not pay for anything more, ma'am," he remarked,"unless you want to make presents to the young lady. No onewill remember you. She hasn't a brass farthing to call her own.""But what am I to do?" demanded Miss Minchin, as if she felt itentirely his duty to make the matter right. "What am I to do?""There isn't anything to do," said Mr. Barrow, folding up hiseyeglasses and slipping them into his pocket. "Captain Crewe isdead. The child is left a pauper. Nobody is responsible for herbut you.""I am not responsible for her, and I refuse to be maderesponsible!"Miss Minchin became quite white with rage.Mr. Barrow turned to go."I have nothing to do with that, madam," he said un-interestedly. "Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible. Verysorry the thing has happened, of course.""If you think she is to be foisted off on me, you are greatlymistaken," Miss Minchin gasped. "I have been robbed and cheated;I will turn her into the street!"If she had not been so furious, she would have been too discreetto say quite so much. She saw herself burdened with anextravagantly brought-up child whom she had always resented, andshe lost all self-control.Mr. Barrow undisturbedly moved toward the door."I wouldn't do that, madam," he commented; "it wouldn't lookwell. Unpleasant story to get about in connection with theestablishment. Pupil bundled out penniless and without friends."He was a clever business man, and he knew what he was saying. Healso knew that Miss Minchin was a business woman, and would beshrewd enough to see the truth. She could not afford to do athing which would make people speak of her as cruel and hard-hearted."Better keep her and make use of her," he added. "She's aclever child, I believe. You can get a good deal out of her asshe grows older.""I will get a good deal out of her before she grows older!"exclaimed Miss Minchin."I am sure you will, ma'am," said Mr. Barrow, with a littlesinister smile. "I am sure you will. Good morning!"He bowed himself out and closed the door, and it must beconfessed that Miss Minchin stood for a few moments and glared atit. What he had said was quite true. She knew it. She hadabsolutely no redress. Her show pupil had melted intonothingness, leaving only a friendless, beggared little girl.Such money as she herself had advanced was lost and could not beregained.And as she stood there breathless under her sense of injury,there fell upon her ears a burst of gay voices from her ownsacred room, which had actually been given up to the feast. Shecould at least stop this.But as she started toward the door it was opened by Miss Amelia,who, when she caught sight of the changed, angry face, fell backa step in alarm."What is the matter, sister?" she ejaculated.Miss Minchin's voice was almost fierce when she answered:"Where is Sara Crewe?"Miss Amelia was bewildered."Sara!" she stammered. "Why, she's with the children in yourroom, of course.""Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe?"--in bitterirony."A black frock?" Miss Amelia stammered again. "A black one?""She has frocks of every other color. Has she a black one?"Miss Amelia began to turn pale."No--ye-es!" she said. "But it is too short for her. She hasonly the old black velvet, and she has outgrown it.""Go and tell her to take off that preposterous pink silk gauze,and put the black one on, whether it is too short or not. Shehas done with finery!"Then Miss Amelia began to wring her fat hands and cry."Oh, sister!" she sniffed. "Oh, sister! What can havehappened?"Miss Minchin wasted no words."Captain Crewe is dead," she said. "He has died without apenny. That spoiled, pampered, fanciful child is left a pauperon my hands."Miss Amelia sat down quite heavily in the nearest chair."Hundreds of pounds have I spent on nonsense for her. And Ishall never see a penny of it. Put a stop to this ridiculousparty of hers. Go and make her change her frock at once.""I?" panted Miss Amelia. "M-must I go and tell her now?""This moment!" was the fierce answer. "Don't sit staring like agoose. Go!"Poor Miss Amelia was accustomed to being called a goose. Sheknew, in fact, that she was rather a goose, and that it was leftto geese to do a great many disagreeable things. It was asomewhat embarrassing thing to go into the midst of a room fullof delighted children, and tell the giver of the feast that shehad suddenly been transformed into a little beggar, and must goupstairs and put on an old black frock which was too small forher. But the thing must be done. This was evidently not thetime when questions might be asked.She rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief until they lookedquite red. After which she got up and went out of the room,without venturing to say another word. When her older sisterlooked and spoke as she had done just now, the wisest course topursue was to obey orders without any comment. Miss Minchinwalked across the room. She spoke to herself aloud withoutknowing that she was doing it. During the last year the story ofthe diamond mines had suggested all sorts of possibilities toher. Even proprietors of seminaries might make fortunes instocks, with the aid of owners of mines. And now, instead oflooking forward to gains, she was left to look back upon losses."The Princess Sara, indeed!" she said. "The child has beenpampered as if she were a queen." She was sweeping angrily pastthe corner table as she said it, and the next moment she startedat the sound of a loud, sobbing sniff which issued from under thecover."What is that!" she exclaimed angrily. The loud, sobbing sniffwas heard again, and she stooped and raised the hanging folds ofthe table cover."How dare you!" she cried out. "How dare you! Come outimmediately!"It was poor Becky who crawled out, and her cap was knocked onone side, and her face was red with repressed crying."If you please, 'm--it's me, mum," she explained. "I know Ihadn't ought to. But I was lookin' at the doll, mum--an' I wasfrightened when you come in--an' slipped under the table.""You have been there all the time, listening," said MissMinchin."No, mum," Becky protested, bobbing curtsies. "Not listenin'--Ithought I could slip out without your noticin', but I couldn'tan' I had to stay. But I didn't listen, mum--I wouldn't fornothin'. But I couldn't help hearin'."Suddenly it seemed almost as if she lost all fear of the awfullady before her. She burst into fresh tears."Oh, please, 'm," she said; "I dare say you'll give me warnin,mum--but I'm so sorry for poor Miss Sara--I'm so sorry!""Leave the room!" ordered Miss Minchin.Becky curtsied again, the tears openly streaming down hercheeks."Yes, 'm; I will, 'm," she said, trembling; "but oh, I justwanted to arst you: Miss Sara--she's been such a rich younglady, an' she's been waited on, 'and and foot; an' what will shedo now, mum, without no maid? If--if, oh please, would you letme wait on her after I've done my pots an' kettles? I'd do 'emthat quick--if you'd let me wait on her now she's poor. Oh,"breaking out afresh, "poor little Miss Sara, mum--that was calleda princess."Somehow, she made Miss Minchin feel more angry than ever. Thatthe very scullery maid should range herself on the side of thischild--whom she realized more fully than ever that she had neverliked--was too much. She actually stamped her foot."No--certainly not," she said. "She will wait on herself, and onother people, too. Leave the room this instant, or you'll leaveyour place."Becky threw her apron over her head and fled. She ran out ofthe room and down the steps into the scullery, and there she satdown among her pots and kettles, and wept as if her heart wouldbreak."It's exactly like the ones in the stories," she wailed. "Thempore princess ones that was drove into the world."Miss Minchin had never looked quite so still and hard as she didwhen Sara came to her, a few hours later, in response to amessage she had sent her.Even by that time it seemed to Sara as if the birthday party hadeither been a dream or a thing which had happened years ago, andhad happened in the life of quite another little girl.Every sign of the festivities had been swept away; the holly hadbeen removed from the schoolroom walls, and the forms and desksput back into their places. Miss Minchin's sitting room lookedas it always did--all traces of the feast were gone, and MissMinchin had resumed her usual dress. The pupils had beenordered to lay aside their party frocks; and this having beendone, they had returned to the schoolroom and huddled together ingroups, whispering and talking excitedly."Tell Sara to come to my room," Miss Minchin had said to hersister. "And explain to her clearly that I will have no cryingor unpleasant scenes.""Sister," replied Miss Amelia, "she is the strangest child I eversaw. She has actually made no fuss at all. You remember shemade none when Captain Crewe went back to India. When I told herwhat had happened, she just stood quite still and looked at mewithout making a sound. Her eyes seemed to get bigger andbigger, and she went quite pale. When I had finished, she stillstood staring for a few seconds, and then her chin began toshake, and she turned round and ran out of the room and upstairs.Several of the other children began to cry, but she did not seemto hear them or to be alive to anything but just what I wassaying. It made me feel quite queer not to be answered; and whenyou tell anything sudden and strange, you expect people will saysomething--whatever it is."Nobody but Sara herself ever knew what had happened in her roomafter she had run upstairs and locked her door. In fact, sheherself scarcely remembered anything but that she walked up anddown, saying over and over again to herself in a voice which didnot seem her own, "My papa is dead! My papa is dead!"Once she stopped before Emily, who sat watching her from herchair, and cried out wildly, "Emily! Do you hear? Do you hear--papa is dead? He is dead in India--thousands of miles away."When she came into Miss Minchin's sitting room in answer to hersummons, her face was white and her eyes had dark rings aroundthem. Her mouth was set as if she did not wish it to reveal whatshe had suffered and was suffering. She did not look in theleast like the rose-colored butterfly child who had flown aboutfrom one of her treasures to the other in the decoratedschoolroom. She looked instead a strange, desolate, almostgrotesque little figure.She had put on, without Mariette's help, the cast-aside black-velvet frock. It was too short and tight, and her slender legslooked long and thin, showing themselves from beneath the briefskirt. As she had not found a piece of black ribbon, her short,thick, black hair tumbled loosely about her face and contrastedstrongly with its pallor. She held Emily tightly in one arm, andEmily was swathed in a piece of black material."Put down your doll," said Miss Minchin. "What do you mean bybringing her here?""No," Sara answered. "I will not put her down. She is all Ihave. My papa gave her to me."She had always made Miss Minchin feel secretly uncomfortable,and she did so now. She did not speak with rudeness so much aswith a cold steadiness with which Miss Minchin felt it difficultto cope--perhaps because she knew she was doing a heartless andinhuman thing."You will have no time for dolls in future," she said. "Youwill have to work and improve yourself and make yourself useful."Sara kept her big, strange eyes fixed on her, and said not aword."Everything will be very different now," Miss Minchin went on."I suppose Miss Amelia has explained matters to you.""Yes," answered Sara. "My papa is dead. He left me no money. Iam quite poor.""You are a beggar," said Miss Minchin, her temper rising at therecollection of what all this meant. "It appears that you haveno relations and no home, and no one to take care of you."For a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Sara againsaid nothing."What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Minchin, sharply. "Areyou so stupid that you cannot understand? I tell you that youare quite alone in the world, and have no one to do anything foryou, unless I choose to keep you here out of charity.""I understand," answered Sara, in a low tone; and there was asound as if she had gulped down something which rose in herthroat. "I understand.""That doll," cried Miss Minchin, pointing to the splendidbirthday gift seated near--"that ridiculous doll, with all hernonsensical, extravagant things--I actually paid the bill forher!"Sara turned her head toward the chair."The Last Doll," she said. "The Last Doll." And her littlemournful voice had an odd sound."The Last Doll, indeed!" said Miss Minchin. "And she is mine,not yours. Everything you own is mine.""Please take it away from me, then," said Sara. "I do not wantit."If she had cried and sobbed and seemed frightened, Miss Minchinmight almost have had more patience with her. She was a womanwho liked to domineer and feel her power, and as she looked atSara's pale little steadfast face and heard her proud littlevoice, she quite felt as if her might was being set at naught."Don't put on grand airs," she said. "The time for that sort ofthing is past. You are not a princess any longer. Yourcarriage and your pony will be sent away--your maid will bedismissed. You will wear your oldest and plainest clothes--yourextravagant ones are no longer suited to your station. You arelike Becky--you must work for your living."To her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the child'seyes--a shade of relief."Can I work?" she said. "If I can work it will not matter somuch. What can I do?""You can do anything you are told," was the answer. "You are asharp child, and pick up things readily. If you make yourselfuseful I may let you stay here. You speak French well, and youcan help with the younger children.""May I?" exclaimed Sara. "Oh, please let me! I know I canteach them. I like them, and they like me.""Don't talk nonsense about people liking you," said MissMinchin. "You will have to do more than teach the little ones.You will run errands and help in the kitchen as well as in theschoolroom. If you don't please me, you will be sent away.Remember that. Now go."Sara stood still just a moment, looking at her. In her youngsoul, she was thinking deep and strange things. Then she turnedto leave the room."Stop!" said Miss Minchin. "Don't you intend to thank me?"Sara paused, and all the deep, strange thoughts surged up in herbreast."What for?" she said."For my kindness to you," replied Miss Minchin. "For mykindness in giving you a home."Sara made two or three steps toward her. Her thin little chestheaved up and down, and she spoke in a strange un-childishlyfierce way."You are not kind," she said. "You are not kind, and it is not ahome." And she had turned and run out of the room before MissMinchin could stop her or do anything but stare after her withstony anger.She went up the stairs slowly, but panting for breath and sheheld Emily tightly against her side."I wish she could talk," she said to herself. "If she couldspeak--if she could speak!"She meant to go to her room and lie down on the tiger-skin, withher cheek upon the great cat's head, and look into the fire andthink and think and think. But just before she reached thelanding Miss Amelia came out of the door and closed it behindher, and stood before it, looking nervous and awkward. The truthwas that she felt secretly ashamed of the thing she had beenordered to do."You--you are not to go in there," she said."Not go in?" exclaimed Sara, and she fell back a pace."That is not your room now," Miss Amelia answered, reddening alittle.Somehow, all at once, Sara understood. She realized that thiswas the beginning of the change Miss Minchin had spoken of."Where is my room?" she asked, hoping very much that her voicedid not shake."You are to sleep in the attic next to Becky."Sara knew where it was. Becky had told her about it. Sheturned, and mounted up two flights of stairs. The last one wasnarrow, and covered with shabby strips of old carpet. She feltas if she were walking away and leaving far behind her the worldin which that other child, who no longer seemed herself, hadlived. This child, in her short, tight old frock, climbing thestairs to the attic, was quite a different creature.When she reached the attic door and opened it, her heart gave adreary little thump. Then she shut the door and stood against itand looked about her.Yes, this was another world. The room had a slanting roof andwas whitewashed. The whitewash was dingy and had fallen off inplaces. There was a rusty grate, an old iron bedstead, and ahard bed covered with a faded coverlet. Some pieces of furnituretoo much worn to be used downstairs had been sent up. Under theskylight in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece ofdull gray sky, there stood an old battered red footstool. Sarawent to it and sat down. She seldom cried. She did not cry now.She laid Emily across her knees and put her face down upon herand her arms around her, and sat there, her little black headresting on the black draperies, not saying one word, not makingone sound.And as she sat in this silence there came a low tap at the door--such a low, humble one that she did not at first hear it, and,indeed, was not roused until the door was timidly pushed open anda poor tear-smeared face appeared peeping round it. It wasBecky's face, and Becky had been crying furtively for hours andrubbing her eyes with her kitchen apron until she looked strangeindeed."Oh, miss," she said under her breath. "Might I--would youallow me--jest to come in?"Sara lifted her head and looked at her. She tried to begin asmile, and somehow she could not. Suddenly--and it was allthrough the loving mournfulness of Becky's streaming eyes--herface looked more like a child's not so much too old for heryears. She held out her hand and gave a little sob."Oh, Becky," she said. "I told you we were just the same--onlytwo little girls--just two little girls. You see how true it is.There's no difference now. I'm not a princess anymore."Becky ran to her and caught her hand, and hugged it to herbreast, kneeling beside her and sobbing with love and pain."Yes, miss, you are," she cried, and her words were all broken."Whats'ever 'appens to you--whats'ever--you'd be a princess allthe same--an' nothin' couldn't make you nothin' different."