9. Melchisedec

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　The third person in the trio was Lottie. She was a small thingand did not know what adversity meant, and was much bewildered bythe alteration she saw in her young adopted mother. She hadheard it rumored that strange things had happened to Sara, butshe could not understand why she looked different--why she worean old black frock and came into the schoolroom only to teachinstead of to sit in her place of honor and learn lessonsherself. There had been much whispering among the little oneswhen it had been discovered that Sara no longer lived in therooms in which Emily had so long sat in state. Lottie's chiefdifficulty was that Sara said so little when one asked herquestions. At seven mysteries must be made very clear if one isto understand them."Are you very poor now, Sara?" she had asked confidentially thefirst morning her friend took charge of the small French class."Are you as poor as a beggar?" She thrust a fat hand into theslim one and opened round, tearful eyes. "I don't want you to beas poor as a beggar."She looked as if she was going to cry. And Sara hurriedlyconsoled her."Beggars have nowhere to live," she said courageously. "I have aplace to live in.""Where do you live?" persisted Lottle. "The new girl sleeps inyour room, and it isn't pretty any more.""I live in another room," said Sara."Is it a nice one?" inquired Lottie. "I want to go and see it.""You must not talk," said Sara. "Miss Minchin is looking at us.She will be angry with me for letting you whisper."She had found out already that she was to be held accountablefor everything which was objected to. If the children were notattentive, if they talked, if they were restless, it was she whowould be reproved.But Lottie was a determined little person. If Sara would nottell her where she lived, she would find out in some other way.She talked to her small companions and hung about the eldergirls and listened when they were gossiping; and acting uponcertain information they had unconsciously let drop, she startedlate one afternoon on a voyage of discovery, climbing stairs shehad never known the existence of, until she reached the atticfloor. There she found two doors near each other, and openingone, she saw her beloved Sara standing upon an old table andlooking out of a window."Sara!" she cried, aghast. "Mamma Sara!" She was aghastbecause the attic was so bare and ugly and seemed so far awayfrom all the world. Her short legs had seemed to have beenmounting hundreds of stairs.Sara turned round at the sound of her voice. It was her turn tobe aghast. What would happen now? If Lottie began to cry andany one chanced to hear, they were both lost. She jumped downfrom her table and ran to the child."Don't cry and make a noise," she implored. "I shall be scoldedif you do, and I have been scolded all day. It's--it's not sucha bad room, Lottie.""Isn't it?" gasped Lottie, and as she looked round it she bither lip. She was a spoiled child yet, but she was fond enough ofher adopted parent to make an effort to control herself for hersake. Then, somehow, it was quite possible that any place inwhich Sara lived might turn out to be nice. "Why isn't it,Sara?" she almost whispered.Sara hugged her close and tried to laugh. There was a sort ofcomfort in the warmth of the plump, childish body. She had had ahard day and had been staring out of the windows with hot eyes."You can see all sorts of things you can't see downstairs," shesaid."What sort of things?" demanded Lottie, with that curiositySara could always awaken even in bigger girls."Chimneys--quite close to us--with smoke curling up in wreathsand clouds and going up into the sky--and sparrows hopping aboutand talking to each other just as if they were people--and otherattic windows where heads may pop out any minute and you canwonder who they belong to. And it all feels as high up--as ifit was another world.""Oh, let me see it!" cried Lottie. "Lift me up!"Sara lifted her up, and they stood on the old table together andleaned on the edge of the flat window in the roof, and lookedout.Anyone who has not done this does not know what a differentworld they saw. The slates spread out on either side of them andslanted down into the rain gutter-pipes. The sparrows, being athome there, twittered and hopped about quite without fear. Twoof them perched on the chimney top nearest and quarrelled witheach other fiercely until one pecked the other and drove himaway. The garret window next to theirs was shut because thehouse next door was empty."I wish someone lived there," Sara said. "It is so close that ifthere was a little girl in the attic, we could talk to each otherthrough the windows and climb over to see each other, if we werenot afraid of falling."The sky seemed so much nearer than when one saw it from thestreet, that Lottie was enchanted. From the attic window, amongthe chimney pots, the things which were happening in the worldbelow seemed almost unreal. One scarcely believed in theexistence of Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia and the schoolroom, andthe roll of wheels in the square seemed a sound belonging toanother existence."Oh, Sara!" cried Lottie, cuddling in her guarding arm. "I likethis attic--I like it! It is nicer than downstairs!""Look at that sparrow," whispered Sara. "I wish I had somecrumbs to throw to him.""I have some!" came in a little shriek from Lottie. "I havepart of a bun in my pocket; I bought it with my penny yesterday,and I saved a bit."When they threw out a few crumbs the sparrow jumped and flewaway to an adjacent chimney top. He was evidently not accustomedto intimates in attics, and unexpected crumbs startled him. Butwhen Lottie remained quite still and Sara chirped very softly--almost as if she were a sparrow herself--he saw that the thingwhich had alarmed him represented hospitality, after all. Heput his head on one side, and from his perch on the chimneylooked down at the crumbs with twinkling eyes. Lottie couldscarcely keep still."Will he come? Will he come?" she whispered."His eyes look as if he would," Sara whispered back. "He isthinking and thinking whether he dare. Yes, he will! Yes, he iscoming!"He flew down and hopped toward the crumbs, but stopped a fewinches away from them, putting his head on one side again, as ifreflecting on the chances that Sara and Lottie might turn out tobe big cats and jump on him. At last his heart told him theywere really nicer than they looked, and he hopped nearer andnearer, darted at the biggest crumb with a lightning peck, seizedit, and carried it away to the other side of his chimney."Now he knows", said Sara. "And he will come back for theothers."He did come back, and even brought a friend, and the friend wentaway and brought a relative, and among them they made a heartymeal over which they twittered and chattered and exclaimed,stopping every now and then to put their heads on one side andexamine Lottie and Sara. Lottie was so delighted that she quiteforgot her first shocked impression of the attic. In fact, whenshe was lifted down from the table and returned to earthlythings, as it were, Sara was able to point out to her manybeauties in the room which she herself would not have suspectedthe existence of."It is so little and so high above everything," she said, "thatit is almost like a nest in a tree. The slanting ceiling is sofunny. See, you can scarcely stand up at this end of the room;and when the morning begins to come I can lie in bed and lookright up into the sky through that flat window in the roof. Itis like a square patch of light. If the sun is going to shine,little pink clouds float about, and I feel as if I could touchthem. And if it rains, the drops patter and patter as if theywere saying something nice. Then if there are stars, you can lieand try to count how many go into the patch. It takes such alot. And just look at that tiny, rusty grate in the corner. Ifit was polished and there was a fire in it, just think how niceit would be. You see, it's really a beautiful little room."She was walking round the small place, holding Lottie's hand andmaking gestures which described all the beauties she was makingherself see. She quite made Lottie see them, too. Lottie couldalways believe in the things Sara made pictures of."You see," she said, "there could be a thick, soft blue Indianrug on the floor; and in that corner there could be a soft littlesofa, with cushions to curl up on; and just over it could be ashelf full of books so that one could reach them easily; andthere could be a fur rug before the fire, and hangings on thewall to cover up the whitewash, and pictures. They would have tobe little ones, but they could be beautiful; and there could be alamp with a deep rose-colored shade; and a table in the middle,with things to have tea with; and a little fat copper kettlesinging on the hob; and the bed could be quite different. Itcould be made soft and covered with a lovely silk coverlet. Itcould be beautiful. And perhaps we could coax the sparrows untilwe made such friends with them that they would come and peck atthe window and ask to be let in.""Oh, Sara!" cried Lottie. "I should like to live here!"When Sara had persuaded her to go downstairs again, and, aftersetting her on her way, had come back to her attic, she stood inthe middle of it and looked about her. The enchantment of herimaginings for Lottie had died away. The bed was hard andcovered with its dingy quilt. The whitewashed wall showed itsbroken patches, the floor was cold and bare, the grate was brokenand rusty, and the battered footstool, tilted sideways on itsinjured leg, the only seat in the room. She sat down on it for afew minutes and let her head drop in her hands. The mere factthat Lottie had come and gone away again made things seem alittle worse--just as perhaps prisoners feel a little moredesolate after visitors come and go, leaving them behind."It's a lonely place," she said. "Sometimes it's the loneliestplace in the world."She was sitting in this way when her attention was attracted bya slight sound near her. She lifted her head to see where itcame from, and if she had been a nervous child she would haveleft her seat on the battered footstool in a great hurry. Alarge rat was sitting up on his hind quarters and sniffing theair in an interested manner. Some of Lottie's crumbs had droppedupon the floor and their scent had drawn him out of his hole.He looked so queer and so like a gray-whiskered dwarf or gnomethat Sara was rather fascinated. He looked at her with hisbright eyes, as if he were asking a question. He was evidentlyso doubtful that one of the child's queer thoughts came into hermind."I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat," she mused. "Nobodylikes you. People jump and run away and scream out, `Oh, ahorrid rat!' I shouldn't like people to scream and jump andsay, `Oh, a horrid Sara!' the moment they saw me. And set trapsfor me, and pretend they were dinner. It's so different to be asparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat whenhe was made. Nobody said, `Wouldn't you rather be a sparrow?'"She had sat so quietly that the rat had begun to take courage.He was very much afraid of her, but perhaps he had a heart likethe sparrow and it told him that she was not a thing whichpounced. He was very hungry. He had a wife and a large familyin the wall, and they had had frightfully bad luck for severaldays. He had left the children crying bitterly, and felt hewould risk a good deal for a few crumbs, so he cautiously droppedupon his feet."Come on," said Sara; "I'm not a trap. You can have them, poorthing! Prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats.Suppose I make friends with you."How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but itis certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a languagewhich is not made of words and everything in the worldunderstands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything andit can always speak, without even making a sound, to anothersoul. But whatsoever was the reason, the rat knew from thatmoment that he was safe--even though he was a rat. He knew thatthis young human being sitting on the red footstool would notjump up and terrify him with wild, sharp noises or throw heavyobjects at him which, if they did not fall and crush him, wouldsend him limping in his scurry back to his hole. He was really avery nice rat, and did not mean the least harm. When he hadstood on his hind legs and sniffed the air, with his bright eyesfixed on Sara, he had hoped that she would understand this, andwould not begin by hating him as an enemy. When the mysteriousthing which speaks without saying any words told him that shewould not, he went softly toward the crumbs and began to eatthem. As he did it he glanced every now and then at Sara, justas the sparrows had done, and his expression was so veryapologetic that it touched her heart.She sat and watched him without making any movement. One crumbwas very much larger than the others--in fact, it could scarcelybe called a crumb. It was evident that he wanted that piece verymuch, but it lay quite near the footstool and he was still rathertimid."I believe he wants it to carry to his family in the wall," Sarathought. "If I do not stir at all, perhaps he will come and getit."She scarcely allowed herself to breathe, she was so deeplyinterested. The rat shuffled a little nearer and ate a few morecrumbs, then he stopped and sniffed delicately, giving a sideglance at the occupant of the footstool; then he darted at thepiece of bun with something very like the sudden boldness of thesparrow, and the instant he had possession of it fled back to thewall, slipped down a crack in the skirting board, and was gone."I knew he wanted it for his children," said Sara. "I dobelieve I could make friends with him."A week or so afterward, on one of the rare nights whenErmengarde found it safe to steal up to the attic, when shetapped on the door with the tips of her fingers Sara did not cometo her for two or three minutes. There was, indeed, such asilence in the room at first that Ermengarde wondered if shecould have fallen asleep. Then, to her surprise, she heard herutter a little, low laugh and speak coaxingly to someone."There!" Ermengarde heard her say. "Take it and go home,Melchisedec! Go home to your wife!"Almost immediately Sara opened the door, and when she did so shefound Ermengarde standing with alarmed eyes upon the threshold."Who--who are you talking to, Sara?" she gasped out.Sara drew her in cautiously, but she looked as if somethingpleased and amused her."You must promise not to be frightened--not to scream the leastbit, or I can't tell you," she answered.Ermengarde felt almost inclined to scream on the spot, butmanaged to control herself. She looked all round the attic andsaw no one. And yet Sara had certainly been speaking to someone.She thought of ghosts."Is it--something that will frighten me?" she asked timorously."Some people are afraid of them," said Sara. "I was at first--but I am not now.""Was it--a ghost?" quaked Ermengarde."No," said Sara, laughing. "It was my rat."Ermengarde made one bound, and landed in the middle of thelittle dingy bed. She tucked her feet under her nightgown andthe red shawl. She did not scream, but she gasped with fright."Oh! Oh!" she cried under her breath. "A rat! A rat!""I was afraid you would be frightened," said Sara. "But youneedn't be. I am making him tame. He actually knows me andcomes out when I call him. Are you too frightened to want to seehim?"The truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the aid ofscraps brought up from the kitchen, her curious friendship haddeveloped, she had gradually forgotten that the timid creatureshe was becoming familiar with was a mere rat.At first Ermengarde was too much alarmed to do anything buthuddle in a heap upon the bed and tuck up her feet, but the sightof Sara's composed little countenance and the story ofMelchisedec's first appearance began at last to rouse hercuriosity, and she leaned forward over the edge of the bed andwatched Sara go and kneel down by the hole in the skirting board."He--he won't run out quickly and jump on the bed, will he?" shesaid."No," answered Sara. "He's as polite as we are. He is just likea person. Now watch!"She began to make a low, whistling sound--so low and coaxing thatit could only have been heard in entire stillness. She did itseveral times, looking entirely absorbed in it. Ermengardethought she looked as if she were working a spell. And at last,evidently in response to it, a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed headpeeped out of the hole. Sara had some crumbs in her hand. Shedropped them, and Melchisedec came quietly forth and ate them. Apiece of larger size than the rest he took and carried in themost businesslike manner back to his home."You see," said Sara, "that is for his wife and children. He isvery nice. He only eats the little bits. After he goes back Ican always hear his family squeaking for joy. There are threekinds of squeaks. One kind is the children's, and one is Mrs.Melchisedec's, and one is Melchisedec's own."Ermengarde began to laugh."Oh, Sara!" she said. "You are queer--but you are nice.""I know I am queer," admitted Sara, cheerfully; "and I try to benice." She rubbed her forehead with her little brown paw, and apuzzled, tender look came into her face. "Papa always laughed atme," she said; "but I liked it. He thought I was queer, but heliked me to make up things. I--I can't help making up things.If I didn't, I don't believe I could live." She paused andglanced around the attic. "I'm sure I couldn't live here," sheadded in a low voice.Ermengarde was interested, as she always was. "When you talkabout things," she said, "they seem as if they grew real. Youtalk about Melchisedec as if he was a person.""He is a person," said Sara. "He gets hungry and frightened,just as we do; and he is married and has children. How do weknow he doesn't think things, just as we do? His eyes look as ifhe was a person. That was why I gave him a name."She sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude, holding herknees."Besides," she said, "he is a Bastille rat sent to be my friend.I can always get a bit of bread the cook has thrown away, and itis quite enough to support him.""Is it the Bastille yet?" asked Ermengarde, eagerly. "Do youalways pretend it is the Bastille?""Nearly always," answered Sara. "Sometimes I try to pretend itis another kind of place; but the Bastille is generally easiest--particularly when it is cold."Just at that moment Ermengarde almost jumped off the bed, shewas so startled by a sound she heard. It was like two distinctknocks on the wall."What is that?" she exclaimed.Sara got up from the floor and answered quite dramatically:"It is the prisoner in the next cell.""Becky!" cried Ermengarde, enraptured."Yes," said Sara. "Listen; the two knocks meant, `Prisoner, areyou there?'"She knocked three times on the wall herself, as if in answer."That means, `Yes, I am here, and all is well.'"Four knocks came from Becky's side of the wall."That means," explained Sara, "`Then, fellow-sufferer, we willsleep in peace. Good night.'"Ermengarde quite beamed with delight."Oh, Sara!" she whispered joyfully. "It is like a story!""It is a story," said Sara. "Everything's a story. You are astory--I am a story. Miss Minchin is a story."And she sat down again and talked until Ermengarde forgot thatshe was a sort of escaped prisoner herself, and had to bereminded by Sara that she could not remain in the Bastille allnight, but must steal noiselessly downstairs again and creep backinto her deserted bed.