The Complete Works of Frances Hodgson Burnett. Frances Hodgson Burnett

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СКАЧАТЬ dishes, and found rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and sandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both of them. The mug from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea cup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. They were warm and full-fed and happy, and it was just like Sara that, having found her strange good fortune real, she should give herself up to the enjoyment of it to the utmost. She had lived such a life of imaginings that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing that happened, and almost to cease, in a short time, to find it bewildering.

      “I don’t know anyone in the world who could have done it,” she said; “but there has been someone. And here we are sitting by their fire—and—and—it’s true! And whoever it is—wherever they are—I have a friend, Becky—someone is my friend.”

      It cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing fire, and ate the nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind of rapturous awe, and looked into each other’s eyes with something like doubt.

      “Do you think,” Becky faltered once, in a whisper, “do you think it could melt away, miss? Hadn’t we better be quick?” And she hastily crammed her sandwich into her mouth. If it was only a dream, kitchen manners would be overlooked.

      “No, it won’t melt away,” said Sara. “I am EATING this muffin, and I can taste it. You never really eat things in dreams. You only think you are going to eat them. Besides, I keep giving myself pinches; and I touched a hot piece of coal just now, on purpose.”

      The sleepy comfort which at length almost overpowered them was a heavenly thing. It was the drowsiness of happy, well-fed childhood, and they sat in the fire glow and luxuriated in it until Sara found herself turning to look at her transformed bed.

      There were even blankets enough to share with Becky. The narrow couch in the next attic was more comfortable that night than its occupant had ever dreamed that it could be.

      As she went out of the room, Becky turned upon the threshold and looked about her with devouring eyes.

      “If it ain’t here in the mornin’, miss,” she said, “it’s been here tonight, anyways, an’ I shan’t never forget it.” She looked at each particular thing, as if to commit it to memory. “The fire was THERE”, pointing with her finger, “an’ the table was before it; an’ the lamp was there, an’ the light looked rosy red; an’ there was a satin cover on your bed, an’ a warm rug on the floor, an’ everythin’ looked beautiful; an’”—she paused a second, and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly—“there WAS soup an’ sandwiches an’ muffins—there WAS.” And, with this conviction a reality at least, she went away.

      Through the mysterious agency which works in schools and among servants, it was quite well known in the morning that Sara Crewe was in horrible disgrace, that Ermengarde was under punishment, and that Becky would have been packed out of the house before breakfast, but that a scullery maid could not be dispensed with at once. The servants knew that she was allowed to stay because Miss Minchin could not easily find another creature helpless and humble enough to work like a bounden slave for so few shillings a week. The elder girls in the schoolroom knew that if Miss Minchin did not send Sara away it was for practical reasons of her own.

      “She’s growing so fast and learning such a lot, somehow,” said Jessie to Lavinia, “that she will be given classes soon, and Miss Minchin knows she will have to work for nothing. It was rather nasty of you, Lavvy, to tell about her having fun in the garret. How did you find it out?”

      “I got it out of Lottie. She’s such a baby she didn’t know she was telling me. There was nothing nasty at all in speaking to Miss Minchin. I felt it my duty”—priggishly. “She was being deceitful. And it’s ridiculous that she should look so grand, and be made so much of, in her rags and tatters!”

      “What were they doing when Miss Minchin caught them?”

      “Pretending some silly thing. Ermengarde had taken up her hamper to share with Sara and Becky. She never invites us to share things. Not that I care, but it’s rather vulgar of her to share with servant girls in attics. I wonder Miss Minchin didn’t turn Sara out—even if she does want her for a teacher.”

      “If she was turned out where would she go?” inquired Jessie, a trifle anxiously.

      “How do I know?” snapped Lavinia. “She’ll look rather queer when she comes into the schoolroom this morning, I should think—after what’s happened. She had no dinner yesterday, and she’s not to have any today.”

      Jessie was not as ill-natured as she was silly. She picked up her book with a little jerk.

      “Well, I think it’s horrid,” she said. “They’ve no right to starve her to death.”

      When Sara went into the kitchen that morning the cook looked askance at her, and so did the housemaids; but she passed them hurriedly. She had, in fact, overslept herself a little, and as Becky had done the same, neither had had time to see the other, and each had come downstairs in haste.

      Sara went into the scullery. Becky was violently scrubbing a kettle, and was actually gurgling a little song in her throat. She looked up with a wildly elated face.

      “It was there when I wakened, miss—the blanket,” she whispered excitedly. “It was as real as it was last night.”

      “So was mine,” said Sara. “It is all there now—all of it. While I was dressing I ate some of the cold things we left.”

      “Oh, laws! Oh, laws!” Becky uttered the exclamation in a sort of rapturous groan, and ducked her head over her kettle just in time, as the cook came in from the kitchen.

      Miss Minchin had expected to see in Sara, when she appeared in the schoolroom, very much what Lavinia had expected to see. Sara had always been an annoying puzzle to her, because severity never made her cry or look frightened. When she was scolded she stood still and listened politely with a grave face; when she was punished she performed her extra tasks or went without her meals, making no complaint or outward sign of rebellion. The very fact that she never made an impudent answer seemed to Miss Minchin a kind of impudence in itself. But after yesterday’s deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last night, the prospect of hunger today, she must surely have broken down. It would be strange indeed if she did not come downstairs with pale cheeks and red eyes and an unhappy, humbled face.

      Miss Minchin saw her for the first time when she entered the schoolroom to hear the little French class recite its lessons and superintend its exercises. And she came in with a springing step, color in her cheeks, and a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth. It was the most astonishing thing Miss Minchin had ever known. It gave her quite a shock. What was the child made of? What could such a thing mean? She called her at once to her desk.

      “You do not look as if you realize that you are in disgrace,” she said. “Are you absolutely hardened?”

      The truth is that when one is still a child—or even if one is grown up—and has been well fed, and has slept long and softly and warm; when one has gone to sleep in the midst of a fairy story, and has wakened to find it real, one cannot be unhappy or even look as if one were; and one could not, if one tried, keep a glow of joy out of one’s eyes. Miss Minchin was almost struck dumb by the look of Sara’s eyes when she made her perfectly respectful answer.

      “I beg your pardon, Miss Minchin,” she said; “I know that I am in disgrace.”

      “Be good enough СКАЧАТЬ