6. The Diamond Mines
百度搜索 A Little Princess 天涯 或 A Little Princess 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.
6. The Diamond MinesNot very long after this a very exg thing happened. Not only Sara, but the entire school, found it exg, and made it the chief subject of versation for weeks after it occurred. In one of his letters Captaiold a most iing story. A friend who had been at school with him when he was a boy had uedly e to see him in India. He was the owner of a large tract of land upon which diamonds had been found, and he was engaged in developing the mines. If all went as was fidently expected, he would bee possessed of such wealth as it made one dizzy to think of; and because he was fond of the friend of his school days, he had given him an opportunity to share in this enormous fortune by being a partner in his scheme. This, at least, was what Sara gathered from his letters. It is true that any other business scheme, however magnifit, would have had but small attra for her or for the schoolroom; but "diamond mines" sounded so like the Arabian Nights that no one could be indifferent. Sara thought them enting, and painted pictures, farde and Lottie, of labyrinthine passages in the bowels of the earth, where sparkling stoudded the walls and roofs and ceilings, and strange, dark men dug them out with heavy picks. Ermengarde delighted iory, and Lottie insisted on its beiold to her every evening. Lavinia was very spiteful about it, and told Jessie that she didnt believe such things as diamond mied.
"My mamma has a diam which cost forty pounds," she said. "And it is not a big oher. If there were mines full of diamonds, people would be so rich it would be ridiculous."
"Perhaps Sara will be so rich that she will be ridiculous," giggled Jessie.
"Shes ridiculous without being rich," Lavinia sniffed.
"I believe you hate her," said Jessie.
"No, I dont," snapped Lavinia. "But I dont believe in mines full of diamonds."
"Well, people have to get them from somewhere," said Jessie. "Lavinia," with a new giggle, "w<tt></tt>hat do you thirude says?"
"I dont know, Im sure; and I dont care if its something more about that everlasting Sara."
"Well, it is. One of her `pretends is that she is a princess. She plays it all the time--even in school. She says it makes her learn her lessoer. She wants Ermengarde to be ooo, but Ermengarde says she is too fat."
"She is too fat," said Lavinia. "And Sara is too thin."
Naturally, Jessie giggled again.
"She says it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what you have. It has only to do with what you think of, and what you do." "I suppose she thinks she could be a princess if she was a beggar," said Lavinia. "Let us begin to call her Your Royal Highness."
Lessons for the day were over, and they were sitting before the schoolroom fire, enjoying the time they liked best. It was the time when Miss Min and Miss Amelia were taking their tea iting room sacred to themselves. At this hreat deal of talking was done, and a great mas ged hands, particularly if the younger pupils behaved themselves well, and did not squabble or run about noisily, which it must be fessed they usually did. When they made an uproar the irls usually interfered with scolding and shakes. They were expected to keep order, and there was dahat if they did not, Miss Min or Miss Amelia would appear and put ao festivities. Even as Lavinia spoke the door opened and Sara entered with Lottie, whose habit was to trot everywhere after her like a little dog.
"There she is, with that horrid child!" exclaimed Lavinia in a whisper. "If shes so fond of her, why doesnt she keep her in her own room? She will begin howling about something in five minutes."
It happehat Lottie had been seized with a sudden desire to play in the schoolroom, and had begged her adopted parent to e with her. She joined a group of little ones who were playing in a er. Sara curled herself up in the window-seat, opened a book, and began to read. It was a book about the French Revolution, and she was soon lost in a harrowing picture of the prisoners in the Bastille--men who had spent so many years in dungeons that when they were dragged out by those who rescued them, their long, gray hair and beards almost hid their faces, and they had fotten that an outside world existed at all, and were like beings in a dream.
She was so far away from the schoolroom that it was not agreeable to be dragged back suddenly by a howl from Lottie. Never did she find anything so difficult as to keep herself from losiemper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment. The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is o easy to manage.
"It makes me feel as if someone had hit me," Sara had told Ermengarde on fidence. "And as if I want to hit back. I have to remember things quickly to keep from saying something ill- tempered."
She had to remember things quickly when she laid her book on the window-seat and jumped down from her fortable er.
Lottie had been sliding across the schoolroom floor, and, having first irritated Lavinia and Jessie by making a noise, had ended by falling down and hurting her fat knee. She was screaming and dang up and down in the midst of a group of friends and enemies, who were alternately coaxing and scolding her.
"Stop this minute, you cry-baby! Stop this minute!" Lavinia anded.
"<bdo>藏书网</bdo>Im not a cry-baby . . . Im not!" wailed Lottle. "Sara, Sa-- ra!"
"If she doesnt stop, Miss Min will hear her," cried Jessie. "Lottie darling, Ill give you a penny!"
"I dont want your penny," sobbed Lottie; and she looked down at the fat knee, and, seeing a drop of blood on it, burst forth again.
Sara flew across the room and, kneeling down, put her arms round her.
"Now, Lottie," she said. "Now, Lottie, you promised Sara."
"She said I was a cry-baby," wept Lottie.
Sara patted her, but spoke ieady voice Lottie knew.
"But if you cry, you will be one, Lottie pet. You promised." Lottle remembered that she had promised, but she preferred to lift up her voice.
"I havent any mamma," she proclaimed. "I havent--a bit--of mamma."
"Yes, you have," said Sara, cheerfully. "Have you fotten? Dont you know that Sara is your mamma? Dont you want Sara for your mamma?"
Lottie cuddled up to her with a soled sniff.
"e and sit in the window-seat with me," Sara went on, "and Ill whisper a story to you."
"Will you?" whimpered Lottie. "Will you--tell me--about the diamond mines?"
"The diamond mines?" broke out Lavinia. "Nasty, little spoiled thing, I should like to slap her!"
Sara got up quickly on her feet. It must be remembered that she had been very deeply absorbed in the book about the Bastille, and she had had to recall several things rapidly when she realized that she must go and take care of her adopted child. She was not an angel, and she was not fond of Lavinia.
"Well," she said, with some fire, "I should like to slap you-- but I dont want to slap you!" restraining herself. "At least I both want to slap you--and I should like to slap you--but I wont slap you. We are not little gutter children. We are both old enough to know better."
Here was Lavinias opportunity.
"Ah, yes, your royal highness," she said. "rincesses, I believe. At least one of us is. The school ought to be very fashiona<s></s>ble now Miss Min has a princess for a pupil."
Sara started toward her. She looked as if she were going to box her ears. Perhaps she was. Her trick of pretending things was the joy of her life. She never spoke of it to girls she was not fond of. Her new "pretend" about being a princess was very o her heart, and she was shy aive about it. She had meant it to be rather a secret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all the school. She felt the blood rush up into her fad tingle in her ears. She only just saved herself. If you were a princess, you did not fly intes. Her hand dropped, and she stood quite still a moment. When she spoke it was in a quiet, steady voice; she held her head up, and everybody listeo her.
"Its true," she said. "Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess. I pretend I am a princess, so that I try and behave like one."
Lavinia could not think of exactly the right thing to say. Several times she had found that she could not think of a satisfactory reply when she was dealing with Sara. The reason for this was that, somehow, the rest always seemed to be vaguel<cite>.９9ｌiｂ.</cite>y in sympathy with her oppo. She saw now that they were prig up their ears iedly. The truth was, they liked princesses, and they all hoped they might hear something more definite about this one, and drew nearer Sara accly.
Lavinia could only i one remark, and it fell rather flat.
"Dear me," she said, "I hope, when you asd the throne, you wont fet us!"
"I wont," said Sara, and she did not utter another word, but stood quite still, and stared at her steadily as she saw her take Jessies arm and turn away.
After this, the girls who were jealous of her used to speak of her as "Princess Sara" whehey wished to be particularly disdainful, and those who were fond of her gave her the name among themselves as a term of affe. No one called her "princess" instead of "Sara," but her adorers were much pleased with the picturesqueness and grandeur of the title, and Miss Min, hearing of it, mentio more than oo visiting parents, feeling that it rather suggested a sort of royal b school.
To Becky it seemed the most appropriate thing in the world. The acquaintance begun on the foggy afternoon when she had jumped up terrified from her sleep in the fortable chair, had ripened and grown, though it must be fessed that Miss Min and Miss Amelia knew very little about it. They were aware that Sara was "kind" to the scullery maid, but they knew nothing of certain delightful moments snatched perilously when, the upstairs rooms bei in order with lightning rapidity, Saras sitting room was reached, and the heavy coal box set down with a sigh of joy. At such times stories were told by installments, things of a satisfying nature were either produced aen or hastily tucked into pockets to be disposed of at night, when Becky went upstairs to her attic to bed.
"But I has to eat em careful, miss," she said once; "cos if I leaves crumbs the rats e out to get em."
"Rats!" exclaimed Sara, in horror. "Are there rats there?"
"Lots of em, miss," Becky answered in quite a matter-of-fact manner. "There mostly is rats an mi attics. You gets used to the hey makes scuttling about. Ive got so I dont mind em s long as they dont run over my piller."
"Ugh!" said Sara.
"You gets used to anythin after a bit," said Becky. "You have to, miss, if youre born a scullery maid. Id rather have rats than cockroaches."
"So would I," said Sara; "I suppose you might make friends with a rat in time, but I dont believe I should like to make friends with a cockroach."
Sometimes Becky did not dare to spend more than a few minutes in the bright, warm room, and when this was the case perhaps only a few words could be exged, and a small purchase slipped into the old-fashioned pocket Becky carried under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with a band of tape. The search for and discovery of satisfying things to eat which could be packed into small pass, added a new io Saras existence. When she drove or walked out, she used to look into shop windows eagerly. The first time it occurred to her t home two or three little meat pies, she felt that she had hit upon a discovery. When she exhibited them, Beckys eyes quite sparkled.
"Oh, miss!" she murmured. "Them will be ni fillin. Its fillihats best. Sponge cakes a evenly thing, but it melts away like--if you uand, miss. Thesell just stay iummick."
"Well," hesitated Sara, "I dont think it would be good if they stayed always, but I do believe they will be satisfying."
They were satisfying--and so were beef sandwiches, bought at a cook-shop--and so were rolls and Bologna sausage. In time, Becky began to lose her hungry, tired feeling, and the coal box did not seem so unbearably heavy.
However heavy it was, and whatsoever the temper of the cook, and the hardness of the work heaped upon her shoulders, she had always the ce of the afternoon to look forward to--the ce that Miss Sara would be able to be in her sitting room. In fact, the mere seeing of Miss Sara would have been enough without meat pies. If there was time only for a few words, they were always friendly, merry words that put heart into one; and if there was time for more, then there was an installment of a story to be told, or some other thing one remembered afterward and sometimes lay awake in ones bed iic to think over. Sara--who was only doing what she unsciously liked better than anything else, Nature having made her fiver--had not the least idea what she meant to poor Becky, and how wonderful a beor she seemed. If Nature has made you fiver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you give things out of that--warm things, kind things, sweet things--help and fort and laughter--and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.
Becky had scarcely known what laughter was through all her poor, little hard-driven life. Sara made her laugh, and laughed with her; and, though her of them quite k, the laughter was as "fillin" as the meat pies.
A few weeks before Saras eleventh birthday a letter came to her from her father, which did not seem to be written in such boyish high spirits as usual. He was not very well, and was evidently hted by the business ected with the diamond mines.
"You see, little Sara," he wrote, "your daddy is not a businessman at all, and figures and dots bother him. He does not really uand them, and all this seems so enormous. Perhaps, if I was not feverish I should not be awake, tossing about, one half of the night and spend the other half in troublesome dreams. If my little missus were here, I dare say she would give me some solemn, good advice. You would, wouldnt you, Little Missus?"
One of his many jokes had been to call her his "little missus" because she had su old-fashioned air.
He had made wonderful preparations for her birthday. Among other things, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, and her wardrobe was to be, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfe. When she had replied to the letter asking her if the doll would be an acceptable present, Sara had been very quaint.
"I am getting very old," she wrote; "you see, I shall never live to have another doll givehis will be my last doll. There is something solemn about it. If I could write poetry, I am sure a poem about `A Last Doll would be very nice. But I ot write poetry. I have tried, and it made me laugh. It did not sound like Watts or Ce or Shakespeare at all. No one could ever take Emilys place, but I should respect the Last Doll very much; and I am sure the school would love it. They all like dolls, though some of the big ohe almost fifteen ones-- pretend they are too grown up."
Captain Crewe had a splitting headache when he read this letter in his bungalow in India. The table before him was heaped with papers aers which were alarming him and filling him with anxious dread, but he laughed as he had not laughed for weeks.
"Oh," he said, "shes better fun every year she lives. God grant this business may right itself and leave me free to run home and see her. What wouldnt I give to have her little arms round my his minute! What wouldnt I give!"
The birthday was to be celebrated by great festivities. The schoolroom was to be decorated, and there was to be a party. The boxes taining the presents were to be opened with great ceremony, and there was to be a glitteri spread in Miss Mins sacred room. When the day arrived the whole house was in a whirl of excitement. How the m passed nobody quite knew, because there seemed such preparations to be made. The schoolroom was being decked with garlands of holly; the desks had been moved away, and red covers had been put on the forms which were arrayed round the room against the wall.
When Sara went into her sitting room in the m, she found oable a small, dumpy package, tied up in a piece of broer. She k resent, and she thought she could guess whom it came from. She ope quite tenderly. It was a square pincushion, made of not quite red flannel, and black pins had been stuck carefully into it to form the words, "Menny hapy returns."
"Oh!" cried Sara, with a warm feeling in her heart. "ains she has taken! I like it so, it--it makes me feel sorrowful."
But the moment she was mystified. On the under side of the pincushion was secured a card, bearing i letters the name "Miss Amelia Min."
Sara tur over and over.
"Miss Amelia!" she said to herself "How it be!"
And just at that very moment she heard the door being cautiously pushed open and saw Becky peeping round it.
There was an affeate, happy grin on her face, and she shuffled forward and stood nervously pulling at her fingers.
"Do yer like it, Miss Sara?" she said. "Do yer?"
"Like it?" cried Sara. "You darling Becky, you made it all yourself."
Becky gave a hysteric but joyful sniff, and her eyes looked quite moist with delight.
"It aint nothin but flannin, an the flannin aint new; but I wao give yer somethin an I made it of nights. I knew yer could pretend it was satin with diamond pins in. _I_ tried to when I was makin it. The card, miss," rather doubtfully; "t warnt wrong of me to pick it up out o the dust-bin, was it? Miss Meliar had throwed it away. I hadnt no card o my own, an I k wouldnt be a proper presink if I didnt pin a card on-- so I pinned Miss Meliars."
Sara flew at her and hugged her. She could not have told herself or anyone else why there was a lump ihroat.
"Oh, Becky!" she cried out, with a queer little laugh, "I love you, Becky--I do, I do!"
"Oh, miss!" breathed Becky. "Thank yer, miss, kindly; it aint good enough for that. The--the flannin wasnt new."
百度搜索 A Little Princess 天涯 或 A Little Princess 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.