15. The Magic
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.
15. The MagicWhen Sara had passed the house door she had seen Ram Dass closing the shutters, and caught her glimpse of this room also.
"It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside," was the thought which crossed her mind.
There was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indialeman was sitting before it. His head was resting in his 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 traces the people to Moscow--the little girl they took from Madame Pascals school in Paris is not the one we are in search of. Suppose she proves to be quite a different child. What steps shall I take ?"
When Sara went into the house she met Miss Min, who had e downstairs to scold the cook.
"Where have you wasted your time?" she demanded. "You have been out 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 Min, "and tell no falsehoods."
Sara went in to the cook. The cook had received a severe lecture and was in a fearful temper as a result. She was only too rejoiced to have someoo vent her rage on, and Sara was a venience, as usual.
"Why didnt you stay all night?" she snapped.
Sara laid her purchases oable.
"Here are the things," she said.
The cook looked them rumbling. She was in a very savage humor indeed.
"May I have something to eat?" Sara asked rather faintly.
"Teas over and doh," was the answer. "Did you expect me to keep it hot for you?"
Sara stood silent for a sed.
"I had no dinner," she said , and her voice was quite low. She made it low because she was afraid it would tremble.
"Theres some bread in the pantry," said the cook. "Thats all youll get at this time of day."
Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook was in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat with it. It was always safe and easy to vent her spite on Sara. Really, it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of stairs leading to her attic. She often found them long and steep when she was tired; but tonight it seemed as if she would never reach the top. Several times she was obliged to stop to rest. When she reached the top landing she was glad to see the glimmer of a light ing from under her door. That meant that Ermengarde had mao creep up to pay her a visit. There was some fort in that. It was better than to go into the room alone and find it empty and desolate. The mere presence of plump, fortable Ermengarde, ed in her red shawl, would warm it a little.
Yes; there Ermengarde was when she opehe door. She was sitting in the middle of the bed, with her feet tucked safely under her. She had never bee intimate with Melchiseded his family, though they rather fasated her. When she found herself alone iic she alreferred to sit on the bed until Sara arrived. She had, in fact, on this occasion had time to bee rather nervous, because Melchisedec had appeared and sniffed about a good deal, and once had made her utter a repressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and, while he looked at her, sniffing pointedly in her dire.
"Oh, Sara," she cried out, "I am glad you have e. Melchy would sniff about so. I tried to coax him to go back, but he wouldnt for such a long time. I like him, you know; but it does frighten me when he sniffs right at me. Do you think he ever would 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, theres Melchisedec, poor thing. Hes e to ask for his supper."
Melchisedec had e out of his hole as if he had been listening for her footstep. Sara was quite sure he k. He came forward with an affeate, expet expression as Sara put her hand in her pocket and tur i, shaking her head.
"Im very sorry," she said. "I havent one crumb left. Go home, Melchiseded tell your wife there was nothing in my pocket. Im afraid I fot because the cook and Miss Min were so cross."
Melchisedec seemed to uand. He shuffled resignedly, if not tentedly, 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 go to spend the night with her old aunt," she explained. "No one else ever es and looks into the bedrooms after we are in bed. I could stay here until m if I wao."
She poioward the table uhe skylight. Sara had not looked toward it as she came in. A number of books were piled upon it. Ermengardes gesture was a dejected one.
"Papa has sent me some more books, Sara," she said. "There they are."
Sara looked round and got up at once. She ran to the table, and pig up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. For the moment she fot her disforts.
"Ah," she cried out, "how beautiful! Carlyles French Revolution. I have so wao read that!"
"I havent," said Ermengarde. "And papa will be so cross if I dont. Hell expect me to know all about it when I go home for the holidays. What shall I do?"
Sara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with aed flush on her cheeks.
"Look here," she cried, "if youll lehese books, _Ill_ read them--and tell you everything thats in them afterward-- and Ill tell it so that you will remember it, too."
"Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Ermengarde. "Do you think you ?"
"I know I ," Sara answered. "The little ones always remember what I tell them."
"Sara," said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round face, "if youll do that, and make me remember, Ill--Ill give you anything."
"I dont want you to give me anything," said Sara. "I want your books--I want them!" And her eyes grew big, and her chest heaved.
"Take them, then," said Ermengarde. "I wish I wahem--but I dont. Im not clever, and my father is, ahinks I ought to be."
Sara ening one book after the other. "What are you going to tell your father?" she asked, a slight doubt dawning in her mind.
"Oh, he know," answered Ermengarde. "Hell think Ive read them."
Sara put down her book and shook her head slowly. "Thats almost like telling lies," she said. "And lies--well, you see, they are not only wicked--theyre vulgar. Sometimes"-- reflectively--"Ive thought perhaps I might do something wicked-- I might suddenly fly inte and kill Miss Min, you know, when she was ill-treating me--but I couldnt be vulgar. Why t you tell your father _I_ read them?"
"He wants me to read them," said Ermengarde, a little disced by this ued turn of affairs.
"He wants you to know what is in them," said Sara. "And if I tell it to you in an easy way and make you remember it, I should think he would like that."
"Hell like it if I learn anything in any way," said rueful Ermengarde. "You would if you were my father."
"Its not your fault that--" began Sara. She pulled herself up and stopped rather suddenly. She had been going to say, "Its not your fault that you are stupid."
"That what?" Ermengarde asked.
"That you t learn things quickly," amended Sara. "If you t, you t. If I --why, I ; thats all."
She always felt very tender arde, and tried not to let her feel toly the differeween being able to learn anything at once, and not being able to learn anything at all. As she looked at her plump face, one of her wise, old-fashiohoughts came to her.
"Perhaps," she said, "to be able to learn things quickly isnt everything. To be kind is worth a great deal to other people. If Miss Min knew everything oh and was like what she is now, shed still be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and have been wicked. Look at Robespierre--"
She stopped and examined Ermengardes tenance, which was beginning to look bewildered. "Dont you remember?" she demanded. "I told you about him not long ago. I believe youve fotten."
"Well, I dont remember all of it," admitted Ermengarde.
"Well, you wait a minute," said Sara, "and Ill take off my wet things and myself in the coverlet and tell you ain."
She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail against the wall, and she ged her wet shoes for an old pair of slippers. Then she jumped on the bed, and drawing the coverlet about her shoulders, sat with her arms round her knees. "Now, listen," she said.
She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, and told such stories of it that Ermengardes eyes grew round with alarm and she held her breath. But though she was rather terrified, there was a delightful thrill in listening, and she was not likely tet Robespierre again, or to have any doubts about the Princesse de Lamballe.
"You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it," Sara explained. "And she had beautiful floating blonde hair; and when I think of her, I never see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious people dang and howling."
It was agreed that Mr. St. John was to be told the plan they had made, and for the present the books were to be left iic.
"Now lets tell each other things," said Sara. "How are you getting on with your French lessons?"
"Ever so much better sihe last time I came up here and you explaihe jugations. Miss Min could not uand why I did my exercises so well that first m."
Sara laughed a little and hugged her knees.
"She doesnt uand why Lottie is doing her sums so well," she said; "but it is because she creeps up here, too, and I help her." She glanced round the room. "The attic would be rather nice--if it wasnt so dreadful," she said, laughing again. "Its a good place to pretend in."
The truth was that Ermengarde did not know anything of the sometimes almost unbearable side of life iid she had not a suffitly vivid imagination to depict it for herself. On the rare occasions that she could reach Saras room she only saw the side of it which was made exg by things which were "pretended" and stories which were told. Her visits partook of the character of adventures; and though sometimes Sara looked rather pale, and it was not to be dehat she had growhin, her proud little spirit would not admit of plaints. She had never fessed that at times she was almost ravenous with hunger, as she was tonight. She was growing rapidly, and her stant walking and running about would have given her a keen appetite even if she had had abundant and regular meals of a much more nourishing nature than the uizing, inferior food snatched at such odd times as suited the kit venience. She was growing used to a certain gnawing feeling in her young stomach.
"I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long and weary march," she often said to herself. She liked the sound of the phrase, "long and weary march." It made her feel rather like a soldier. She had also a quaint sense of being a hostess iic.
"If I lived in a castle," she argued, "and Ermengarde was the lady of another castle, and came to see me, with knights and squires and vassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when I heard the clarions sounding outside the drawbridge I should go down to receive her, and I should spread feasts in the ba hall and call in mio sing and play ae romances. When she es into the attic I t spread feasts, but I tell stories, and not let her know disagreeable things. I dare say poor chatelaines had to do that in time of famine, when their lands had been pillaged." She roud, brave little chatelaine, and dispensed generously the one hospitality she could offer--the dreams she dreamed--the visions she saw--the imaginings which were her joy and fort.
So, as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that she was faint as well as ravenous, and that while she talked she now and then wondered if her hunger would let her sleep when she was left alone. 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 thihan you used to be. Your eyes look so big, and look at the sharp little boig out of your elbow!"
Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up.
"I always was a thin child," she said bravely, "and I always had big green eyes."
"I love your queer eyes," said Ermengarde, looking into them with affeate admiration. "They always look as if they saw such a long way. I love them--and I love them to be green--though they look black generally."
"They are cats eyes," laughed Sara; "but I t see in the dark with them--because I have tried, and I couldnt--I wish I could."
It was just at this mihat something happe the skylight whieither of them saw. If either of them had ced to turn and look, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face which peered cautiously into the room and disappeared 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 didnt sound like Melchisedec," she said. "It wasnt scratchy enough."
"What?" said Ermengarde, a little startled.
"Didnt you think you heard something?" asked Sara.
"N-no," Ermengarde faltered. "Did you?" {another ed. has "No- no,"}
"Perhaps I didnt," said Sara; "but I thought I did. It sounded as if something was on the slates--something that dragged softly."
"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 the sound that checked her. It was not on the slates, but oairs below, and it was Miss Mins angry voice. Sara sprang off the bed, and put out the dle.
"She is scolding Becky," she whispered, as she stood in the darkness. "She is making her cry."
"Will she e in here?" Ermengarde whispered back, panic- stri.
"No. She will think I am in bed. Dont stir."
It was very seldom that Miss Min mouhe last flight of stairs. Sara could only remember that she had do once before. But now she was angry enough to be ing at least part of the , and it sounded as if she was driving Becky before her.
"You impudent, disho child!" they heard her say. "Cook tells me she has missed things repeatedly."
"T warnt me, mum," said Becky sobbing. "I was ungry enough, but t warnt me--never!"
"You deserve to be sent to prison," said Miss Mins voice. "Pig and stealing! Half a meat pie, indeed!"
"T warnt me," wept Becky. "I could ave eat a whole un--but I never laid a finger on it."
Miss Min was out of breath between temper and mounting the stairs. The meat pie had been intended for her special late supper. It became apparent that she boxed Beckys ears.
"Dont tell falsehoods," she said. "Go to your room this instant."
Both Sara and Ermengarde heard the slap, and then heard Becky run in her slipshod shoes up the stairs and into her attic. They heard her door shut, and khat she threw herself upon her bed.
&quo<var></var>t;I could ave et two of em," they heard her cry into her pillow. "An I ook a bite. Twas cook give it to her poli."
Sara stood in the middle of the room in the darkness. She was g her little teeth and opening and shutting fiercely her outstretched hands. She could scarcely stand still, but she dared not move until Miss Min had gone dowairs and all was still.
"The wicked, cruel thing!" she burst forth. "The cook takes things herself and then says Becky steals them. She doesnt! She doesnt! Shes so hungry sometimes that she eats crusts out of the ash barrel!" She pressed her hands hard against her fad burst into passiotle sobs, and Ermengarde, hearing this unusual thing, was overawed by it. Sara was g! The unquerable Sara! It seemed to denote>藏书网</a> something new--some mood she had never known. Suppose--suppose--a new dread possibility preseself to her kind, slow, little mind all at once. She crept off the bed in the dark and found her way to the table where the dle stood. She struck a matd lit the dle. When she had lighted it, she bent forward and looked at Sara, with her hought growing to definite fear in her eyes.
"Sara," she said in a timid, almost awe-stri voice, are--are- -you old me--I dont want to be rude, but--are you ever hungry?"
It was too much just at that moment. The barrier broke down. Sara lifted her face from h.9９lｉｂ?er hands.
"Yes," she said in a new passionate way. "Yes, I am. Im so hungry now that I could almost eat you. And it makes it worse to hear poor Becky. Shes huhan I am."
Ermengarde gasped.
"Oh, oh!" she cried woefully. "And I never knew!"
"I didnt want you to know," Sara said. "It would have made me feel like a street beggar. I know I look like a street beggar."
"No, you dont--you dont!" Ermengarde broke in. "Your clothes are a little queer--but you couldnt look like a street beggar. You havent 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 wouldnt have given me his Christmas sixpence if I hadnt looked as if I ."
Somehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good for both of them. It made them laugh a little, though they both had tears in their eyes.
"Who was he?" asked Ermengarde, looking at it quite as if it had not been a mere ordinary silver sixpence.
"He was a darling little thing going to a party," said Sara. "He was one of the Large Family, the little oh the round legs-- the one I call Guy Clarence. I suppose his nursery was crammed with 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 had recalled something to her troubled mind and given her a sudden inspiration.
"Oh, Sara!" she cried. "What a silly thing I am not to have thought of it!"
"Of what?"
"Something splendid!" said Ermengarde, in aed hurry. "This very afternoon my au me a box. It is full of good things. I ouched it, I had so much pudding at dinner, and I was so bothered about papas books." Her words began to tumble over each other. "Its got cake in it, and little meat pies, and jam tarts and buns, and es and red- currant wine, and figs and chocolate. Ill creep bay room a this minute, and well eat it now."
Sara almost reeled. When one is faint with huhe mention of food has sometimes a curious effect. She clutched Ermengardes arm.
"Do you think--you could?" she ejaculated.
"I know I could," answered Ermengarde, and she ran to the door-- ope softly--put her head out into the darkness, and listehen she went back to Sara. "The lights are out. Everybodys in bed. I creep--and creep--and no one will hear."
It was so delightful that they caught each others hands and a sudden light sprang into Saras eyes.
"Ermie!" she said. "Let us pretend! Let us pretend its a party! And oh, wont you ihe prisoner in the cell?"
"Yes! Yes! Let us kno the wall now. The jailer wont hear."
Sara went to the wall. Through it she could hear poor Becky g more softly. She knocked four times.
"That means, `e to me through the secret passage uhe wall, she explained. `I have something to unicate."
Five quiocks answered her.
"She is ing," she said.
Almost immediately the door of the attic opened and Becky appeared. Her eyes were red and her cap was sliding off, and when she caught sight arde she began to rub her faervously with her apron.
"Dont mind me a bit, Becky!" cried Ermengarde.
"Miss Ermengarde has asked you to e in," said Sara, "because she is going t a box of good things up here to us."
Beckys cap almost fell off entirely, she broke in with such excitement.
"To eat, miss?" she said. "Things thats 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 in Ermengarde. "Ill go this minute!"
She was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic she dropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen. No one saw it for a minute or so. Becky was too much overpowered by the good luck which had befallen her.
"Oh, miss! oh, miss!" she gasped; "I know it was you that asked her to let me e. It--it makes me cry to think of it." And she went to Saras side and stood and looked at her worshipingly.
But in Saras hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow and transform her world for her. Here iic--with the cold night outside-- with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed--with the memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar childs eyes not yet faded--this simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic.
She caught her breath.
"Somehow, something always happens," she cried, "just before things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If I could only just remember that always. The worst thing never quite es."
She gave Becky a little cheerful shake.
"No, no! You mustnt cry!" she said. "We must make haste ahe table."
"Set the table, miss?" said Becky, gazing round the room. "Whatll we set it with?"
Sara looked round the attic, too.
"There doeso be much," she answered, half laughing.
That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. It was Ermengardes red shawl which lay upon the floor.
"Heres the shawl," she cried. "I know she wont mind it. It will make such a nice red tablecloth."
They pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl over it. Red is a wonderfully kind and fortable color. It began to make 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 which Becky khe meaning of; and she raised a her foot down again delicately, as if she felt something u.
"Yes, miss," answered Becky, watg her with serious rapture. She was always quite serious.
"What , now?" said Sara, and she stood still and put her hands over her eyes. "Something will e if I think and wait a little"--in a soft, expet voice. "The Magic will tell me."
One of her favorite fancies was that on "the outside," as she called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Becky had seeand and wait many a time before, and khat in a few seds she would uncover an enlightened, laughing face.
In a moment she did.
"There!" she cried. "It has e! I know now! I must look among the things in the old trunk I had when I rincess."
She flew to its er and kneeled down. It had not been put iic for her be, but because there was no room for it elsewhere. Nothing had bee in it but rubbish. But she knew she should find something. The Magic always arrahat kind of thing in one way or another.
In a er lay a package so insignifit-looking that it had been overlooked, and when she herself had found it she had kept it as a relic. It tained a dozen small white handkerchiefs. She seized them joyfully and ran to the table. She began te them upon the red table-cover, patting and coaxing them into shape with the narrow lace edge curling outward, her Magic w 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 in vents in Spain."
"Did they, miss?" breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by the information.
"You must pretend it," said Sara. "If you pretend it enough, you will see them."
"Yes, miss," said Becky; and as Sara returo the trunk she devoted herself to the effort of aplishing an end so much to be desired.
Sara turned suddenly to fianding by the table, looking very queer indeed. She had shut her eyes, and was twisting her fa strange vulsive tortions, her hands hanging stiffly ched at her sides. She looked as if she was trying to lift some enormous weight.
"What is the matter, Becky?" Sara cried. "What are you doing?"
Becky opened her eyes with a start.
"I retendin, miss," she answered a little sheepishly; "I was tryin to see it like you do. I almost did," with a hopeful grin. "But it takes a lot o strenth."
"Perhaps it does if you are not used to it," said Sara, with friendly sympathy; "but you dont know how easy it is when youve do often. I wouldnt try so hard just at first. It will e to you after a while. Ill just tell you what things are. Look at these."
She held an old summer hat in her hand which she had fished out of the bottom of the trunk. There was a wreath of flowers on it. She pulled the wreath off.
"These are garlands for the feast," she said grandly. "They fill all the air with perfume. Theres a mug on the wash-stand, Becky. Oh--and bring the soap dish for a terpiece."
Becky hahem to her reverently.
"What are they now, miss?" she inquired. "Youd think they was made of crockery--but I know they aint."
"This is a carven flagon," said Sara, arranging tendrils of the wreath about the mug. "And this"--bending tenderly over the soap dish and heaping it with roses--"is purest alabaster encrusted with gems."
She touched the things gently, a happy smile h about her lips which made her look as if she were a creature in a dream.
"My, aint it lovely!" whispered Becky.
"If we just had something for bonbon dishes," Sara murmured. "There!"--darting to the trunk again. "I remember I saw something this minute."
It was only a bundle of wool ed in red and white tissue paper, but the tissue paper was soon twisted into the form of little dishes, and was bined with the remaining flowers to orhe dlestick which was to light the feast. Only the Magic could have made it more than an old table covered with a red shawl a with rubbish from a long-unoperunk. But Sara drew bad gazed at it, seeing wonders; and Becky, after staring in delight, spoke with bated breath.
"This ere," she suggested, with a glance round the attic--"is it the Bastille now--or has it turned into somethin different?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" said Sara. "Quite different. It is a ba hall!"
"My eye, miss!" ejaculated Becky. "A bla all!" and she turo view the splendors about her with awed bewilderment.
"A ba hall," said Sara. "A vast chamber where feasts are given. It has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels gallery, and a huge ey filled with blazing oaken logs, and it is brilliant with waxen tapers twinkling on every side."
"My eye, Miss Sara!" gasped Becky again.
Then the door opened, and Ermengarde came in, rather staggering uhe weight of her hamper. She started back with an exclamation of joy. To enter from the chill darkness outside, and find ones self fronted by a totally unanticipated festal board, draped with red, adorned with white napery, and wreathed with flowers, was to feel that the preparations were brilliant indeed.
"Oh, Sara!" she cried out. "You are the cleverest girl I ever saw!"
"Isnt it nice?" said Sara. "They are things out of my old trunk. I asked my Magid it told me to go and look."
"But oh, miss," cried Becky, "wait till shes told you what they are! They aint just--oh, miss, please tell her," appealing to Sara.
So Sara told her, and because her Magic helped her she made her almost see it all: the golden platters--the vaulted spaces--the blazing logs--the twinkling waxen tapers. As the things were taken out of the hamper--the frosted cakes--the fruits--the bonbons and the wihe feast became a splendid thing.
"Its like a real party!" cried Ermengarde.
"Its like a queens table," sighed Becky.
Then Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought.
"Ill tell you what, Sara," she said. "Pretend you are a princess now and this is a royal feast."
"But its your feast," said Sara; "you must be the princess, and we will be your maids of honor."
"Oh, I t," said Ermengarde. "Im too fat, and I dont know how. You be her."
"Well, if you wao," said Sara.
But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate.
"There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!" she exclaimed. "If we light it, there will be a bright blaze for a few minutes, and we shall feel as if it was a real fire." She struck a matd lighted it up with a great specious glow which illumihe room.
"By the time it stops blazing," Sara said, "we shall fet about its not being real."
She stood in the dang glow and smiled.
"Doesnt it look real?" she said. "Noill begin the party."
She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously tarde and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream.
"Advance, fair damsels," she said in her happy dream-voice, "and be seated at the baable. My her, the king, who is absent on a long journey, has anded me to feast you." She turned her head slightly toward the er of the room. "What, ho, there, minstrels! Strike up with your viols and bassoons. Princesses," she explained rapidly tarde and Becky, "always had mio play at their feasts. Pretend there is a minstrel gallery up there in the er. Noill begin."
They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into their hands--not one of them had time to do more, when--they all three sprang to their feet and turned pale faces toward the door-- listening--listening.
Someone was ing up the stairs. There was no mistake about it. Each of them reized the angry, mounting tread and khat the end of all things had e.
"Its--the missus!" choked Becky, and dropped her piece of cake upon the floor.
"Yes," said Sara, her eyes growing shocked and large in her small white face. "Miss Min has found us out."
Miss Min struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She ale herself, but it was with rage. She looked from the frightened faces to the baable, and from the baable to the last flicker of the burnt paper in the grate.
"I have been suspeg something of this sort," she exclaimed; "but I did not dream of such audacity. Lavinia was telling the truth."
So they khat it was Lavinia who had somehow guessed their secret and had betrayed them. Miss Min strode over to Becky and boxed her ears for a sed time.
"You impudent creature!" she said. "You leave the house in the m!"
Sara stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face paler. Ermengarde burst into tears.
"Oh, dont send her away," she sobbed. "My au me the hamper. Were--only--having a party."
"So I see," said Miss Min, witheringly. "With the Princess Sara at the head of the table." She turned fiercely on Sara. "It is your doing, I know," she cried. &quarde would never have thought of such a thing. You decorated the table, I suppose--with this rubbish." She stamped her foot at Becky. "Go to your attic!" she anded, and Becky stole away, her face hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking.
Then it was Saras turn again.
"I will attend to you tomorrow. You shall have her breakfast, dinner, nor supper!"
"I have not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Min," said Sara, rather faintly.
"Then all the better. You will have something to remember. Dont stand there. Put those things into the hamper again."
She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself, and caught sight ardes new books.
"And you"--tarde--"have brought your beautiful new books into this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You will 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 Saras grave, fixed gaze at this moment made her turn on her fiercely.
"What are you thinking of?" she demanded. "Why do you look at me like that?"
"I was w," answered Sara, as she had answered that notable day in the schoolroom.
"What were you w?"
It was very like the se in the schoolroom. There was ness in Saras manner. It was only sad and quiet.
"I was w," she said in a low voice, "what my papa would say if he knew where I am tonight."
Miss Min was infuriated just as she had been before and her anger expressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion. She flew at her and shook her.
"You i, unmanageable child!" she cried. "How dare you! How dare you!"
She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast bato the hampe<s>?９９ｌiｂ?</s>r in a jumbled heap, thrust it intardes arms, and pushed her before her toward the door.
"I will leave you to wonder," she said. "Go to bed this instant." And she shut the door behind herself and poor stumbling Ermengarde, a Sara standing quite alone.
The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died out of the paper in the grate a only black tihe table was left bare, the golden plates and richly embroidered napkins, and the garlands were transformed again into old handkerchiefs, scraps of red and white paper, and discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor; the minstrels in the minstrel gallery had stolen away, and the viols and bassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her back against the wall, staring very hard. Sara saw her, a and picked her up with trembling hands.
"There isnt any ba left, Emily," she said. "And there isnt any princess. There is nothi but the prisoners in the Bastille." And she sat down and hid her face.
What would have happened if she had not hidden it just then, and if she had ced to look up at the skylight at the wrong moment, I do not know--perhaps the end of this chapter might have been quite different--because if she had gla the skylight she would certainly have been startled by what she would have seen. She would have seely the same face pressed against the glass and peering in at her as it had peered in earlier in the evening when she had been talking tarde.
But she did not look up. She sat with her little black head in her arms for some time. She always sat like that when she was trying to bear something in silehe up a slowly to the bed.
"I t pretend anything else--while I am awake," she said. "There wouldnt be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhaps a dream will e and pretend for me."
She suddenly felt so tired--perhaps through want of food--that she sat down on the edge of the bed quite weakly.
"Suppose there was a bright fire in the grate, with lots of little dang flames," she murmured. "Suppose there was a fortable chair before it--and suppose there was a small table near, with a little hot--hot supper on it. And suppose"--as she drew the thin cs over her--"suppose this was a beautiful soft bed, with fleecy blas and large downy pillows. Suppose-- suppose--" And her very weariness was good to her, for her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep.
She did not know how long she slept. But she had been tired enough to sleep deeply and profoundly--too deeply and soundly to be disturbed by anything, even by the squeaks and scamperings of Melchisedetire family, if all his sons and daughters had chosen to e out of their hole to fight and tumble and play.
When she awake was rather suddenly, and she did not know that any particular thing had called her out of her sleep. The truth was, however, that it was a sound which had called her back--a real sound--the click of the skylight as it fell in closing after a lithe white figure which slipped through it and crouched down close by upon the slates of the roof--just near enough to see what happened iic, but not near enough to be seen.
At first she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy and-- curiously enough--too warm and fortable. She was so warm and fortable, ihat she did not believe she was really awake. She never was as warm and cozy as this except in some lovely vision.
"What a nice dream!" she murmured. "I feel quite warm. I--dont- -want--to--wake--up."
Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful bedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually feel blas, and whe out her hand it touched somethily like a satin-covered eider-down quilt. She must not awaken from this delight--she must be quite still and make it last.
But she could not--even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, she could not. Something was f her to awaken--something in the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound--the sound of a crag, r little fire.
"Oh, I am awakening," she said mournfully. "I t help it--I t."
Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And theually smiled--for what she saw she had never seen iic before, and knew she never should see.
"Oh, I havent awakened," she whispered, daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her. "I am dreami." She k must be a dream, for if she were awake such things could not-- could not be.
Do you wohat she felt sure she had not e back to earth? This is what she saw. In the grate there was a glowing, blazing fire; on the hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a thick, warm crims; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot; on the bed were new warm cs and a satin-covered down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream seemed ged into fairyland--and it was flooded with warm light, for a bright lamp stood oable covered with a rosy shade.
She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came short and fast.
"It does not--melt away," she panted. "Oh, I never had such a dream before." She scarcely dared to stir; but at last she pushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile.
"I am dreaming--I am getting out of bed," she heard her own voice say; and then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning slowly from side to side--"I am dreaming it stays--real! Im dreaming it feels real. Its bewitched--or Im bewitched. I only think I see it all." Her words began to hurry themselves. "If I only keep on thinking it," she cried, "I dont care! I dont care!"
She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again.
"Oh, it isnt true!" she said. "It t be true! But oh, how true it seems!"
The blazing fire drew her to it, and she k down and held out her hands close to it--so close that the heat made her start back.
"A fire I only dreamed would," she cried.
She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she went to the bed and touched the blas. She took up the soft wadded dressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to her cheek.
"Its warm. Its soft!" she almost sobbed. "Its real. It must be!"
She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the slippers.
"They are real, too. Its all real!" she cried. "I am not--I am not dreaming!"
She almost staggered to the books and opehe one which lay upoop. Something was written on the flyleaf--just a few words, and they were these:
"To the little girl iic. From a friend."
When she saw that--wasnt it a strahing for her to do-- she put her face down upon the page and burst into tears.
"I dont know who it is," she said; "but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend."
She took her dle and stole out of her own room and into Beckys, and stood by her bedside.
"Becky, Becky!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. "Wake up!"
When Becky wakened, and she sat upright staring aghast, her face still smudged with traces of tears, beside her stood a little figure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk. The face she saw was a shining, wonderful thing. The Princess Sara--as she remembered her--stood at her very bedside, holding a dle in her hand.
"e," she said. "Oh, Becky, e!"
Becky was thteo speak. She simply got up and followed her, with her mouth and eyes open, and without a word.
And when they crossed the threshold, Sara shut the dently and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things which made her brain reel and her hungry senses faint. "Its true! Its true!" she cried. "Ive touched them all. They are as real as we are. The Magic has e and do, Becky, while we were asleep--the Magic that wohose worst things ever quite happen."
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.