ooked, and when she herself had found it, she had kept it as a relic.  She seized them joyfully and ran to the table. She began to arrange them upon the red table cover, patting and coaxing them into shape, with the narrow lace edge curling outward, her magic working its spells for her as she did it. These are the plates, she said. They are golden plates. These are the richly embroidered napkins. Nones worked them in Compens in Spain. Did they miss? breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by the information. You must pretend it, said Sarah. If you pretend it enough, you will see them. Yes, miss, said Becky. And as Sarah returned to the trunk, she devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to be desired. Sarah turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking very queer indeed.  She looked as if she was trying to lift some enormous weight. What is the matter, Becky? Sarah cried. What are you doing? Becky opened her eyes by the start. I was a pretending miss, she answered a little sheepishly.  I almost did, with a hopeful grin, but it takes a lot of strength. Perhaps it does if you're not used to it, said Sarah with friendly sympathy. But you don't know how easy it is when you've done it often. I wouldn't try so hard just at first. It will come to you after a while. I'll 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. There's a mug on the wash-sand, Becky. Oh, and bring the soap-dish for a centrepiece. Becky handed them to her reverently. What are they now, miss? she inquired. You'd think there was made a crockery, but I know they ain't. This is a carven flaggan, said Sarah, arranging tendrils of the wreath about the month. 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 hovering about her lips, which made her look as if she were a creature in a dream. My! ain't it lovely, whispered Becky. If we just had something for bombon dishes, Sarah murmured. There, darting to the trunk again, I remember I saw something this minute. It was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissue paper, but the tissue paper was soon twisted into the form of little dishes, and was combined with the remaining flowers to ornament the candlestick, which was to like the feast. Only the magic could have made it more than an old table covered with a red shawl and set with rubbish from a long, unopened trunk. But Sarah drew back and gazed at it, seeing wonders, and Becky, after staring in delight, spoke with baited breath. This year, she suggested, with a glance round the attic, is it the best deal now, or has it turned into something different? Oh, yes, yes, said Sarah, quite different. It is a banquet hall. My, I miss, ejaculated Becky, a blanket hall, and she turned to view the splendours about her with awed bewilderment. A banquet hall, said Sarah. A vast chamber where feasts are given. It has a vaulted roof and a minstrel's gallery, and a huge chimney filled with blazing, open logs, and it is brilliant with wax and tapers twinkling on every side. My, I miss, Sarah! gasped Becky again. Then the door opened, and Ermengard came in rather staggering under the weight of her hamper. She started back with an exclamation of joy. To enter from the chilled darkness outside, and find oneself confronted 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, Sarah! she cried out. You're the cleverest girl I ever saw. Isn't it nice? said Sarah. There are things out of my old trunk. I asked my magic, and it told me to go and look.  They ain't just—oh, miss, please tell her! appealing to Sarah. So Sarah 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 wax and tapers. As things were taken out of a hamper, the frosted cakes, the fruits, the bombons and the wine, the feast became a splendid thing. End of Chapter 15 Part 2 Chapter 15 Part 3 of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett Read for LibriVox.org by Karen Savage in September 2007 Chapter 15 Continued It's like a real party, cried Ermingard. It's like Queen's Table, sighed Becky. Then Ermingard had a sudden brilliant thought. I'll tell you what, Sarah, she said.  But it's your feast, said Sarah. You must be the princess, and we will be your maids of honour. Oh, I can't, said Ermingard. I'm too fat, and I don't know how. You be her. Well, if you want me to, said Sarah. But suddenly she thought of something else, and ran to the rusty great. 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 match and lighted it up with a great specious glow which illuminated the room. By the time it stops blazing, Sarah said, we shall forget about it's not being real. She stood in the dancing glow and smiled. Doesn't it look real, she said? Now we will begin the party. She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously to Ermingard and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream. Advanced fair damsels, she said in her happy dream voice, and besieged at the banquet table. My noble father, the king, who is absent on a long journey, has commanded me to feast you. She turned her head slightly toward the corner of the room. What o' there, minstrels? Strike up with your vials and bassoons. Princesses, she explained rapidly to Ermingard and Becky, always had minstrels to play at their feast. Pretend there's a minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we will 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 coming up the stairs. There was no mistake about it. Each of them recognized the angry mounting tread and knew that the end of all things had come. It's the missus, choked Becky, and dropped her piece of cake upon the floor.  Miss Minchin has found us out. Miss Minchin struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She was pale herself, but it was with rage. She looked from the frightened faces to the banquet table, and from the banquet table to the last flicker of the burnt paper in the grate. I have been suspecting something of this sort, she exclaimed, but I did not dream of such audacity. Lavinia was telling the truth. So they knew that it was Lavinia who had somehow guessed their secret and had betrayed them. Miss Minchin strode over to Becky and boxed her ears for a second time. You impudent creature, she said, you leave the house in the morning.  Ermingard burst into tears. Oh, don't send her away, she sobbed. My aunt sent me the hamper, we're only having a party. So I see, said Miss Minchin witheringly, with the princess Sarah at the head of the table. She turned fiercely on Sarah. It is your doing, I know, she cried. Ermingard would never have thought of such a thing. You decorated the table, I suppose, with this rubbish. She stamped her foot at Becky. Oh, to your attic, she commanded.  Then it was Sarah's turn again. I will attend to you to-morrow. You shall have neither breakfast, dinner, nor supper. I have not had either dinner or supper to-day, Miss Minchin, said Sarah rather faintly. Then all the better, you will have something to remember. Don't stand there. Put those things into the hamper again. She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself, and caught sight of Ermingard's new books. And you, to Ermingard, have brought your beautiful new books into this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You will stay there all day to-morrow, and I shall write to your papa. What would he say if he knew where you are to-night? Something she saw in Sarah's 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 wondering, answered Sarah, as she had answered that notable day in the schoolroom. What were you wondering? It was very like the scene in the schoolroom. There was no pertness in Sarah's manner. It was only sad and quiet. I was wondering, she said in a low voice, what my papa would say if he knew where I am to-night. Miss Minchin 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 insolent, unmanageable child! She cried.   She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into the hamper in a jumbled heap, thrusted into Ermengard's arms, and pushed her before her toward the door. I will leave you to wonder, she said, go to bed this instant!  The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died out of the paper in the grate, and left only black tinder. The table was left bare. The golden plates and richly embroidered lapkins and 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 vials and bassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her back against the wall, staring very hard. Sarah saw her, and went and picked her up with trembling hands. There isn't any banquet left, Emily, she said, and there isn't any princess. There is nothing left 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 chance 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 glanced at the skylight, she would certainly have been startled by what she would have seen. She would have seen exactly 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 to Ermengard. But she did not look up.  She always sat like that when she was trying to bear something in silence. Then she got up and went slowly to bed. I can't pretend anything else while I'm awake, she said. There wouldn't be any use in trying. If I go to sleep, perhaps a dream will come 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 comfortable 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 coverings over her, suppose this was a beautiful soft bed with fleecy blankets 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 Melchizedek's entire family, if all his sons and daughters had chosen to come out of their hole to fight and tumble and play. When she awakened it 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 in the attic, 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 comfortable. She was so warm and comfortable indeed, that she did not believe she was really awake. She never was as warm and cosy as this, except in some lovely vision. What a nice dream, she murmured. I feel quite warm. I don't want to wake up. Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful bed-clothes were heaped upon her. She could actually feel blankets, and when she put out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin-covered, eyed-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 forcing her to awaken. Something in the room. It was a sense of light and a sound—the sound of a crackling, roaring, little fire. Oh, I'm awakening, she said mournfully. I can't help it. I can't. Her eyes opened in spite of herself, and then she actually smiled, for what she saw she had never seen in the attic before, and she knew she never should see. Oh, I haven't awakened, she whispered, daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her. I'm dreaming yet. She knew it must be a dream, for if she were awake such things could not. Could not be. Do you wonder that she felt sure that she had not come 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 crimson rug, before the fire a folding chair unfolded and with cushions on it.  On the bed were new warm coverings 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 changed into fairyland. It was flooded with warm light, for a bright lamp stood on the table 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. I am dreaming it feels real. It's bewitched, or I'm bewitched. I only think I see it all. Her words began to hurry themselves. If I can only keep on thinking it, she cried, I don't care, I don't care. She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again, oh, it isn't true, she said. It can't be true. But oh, how true it seems! The blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and held out her hands close to it, so close that the heat made her start back. A fire I only dreamed wouldn't be hot, she cried. She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug. She went to the bed and touched the blankets. She took up the soft, wadded dressing gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to her cheek. It's warm! It's soft! she almost sobbed. It's real! It must be! She threw it over her shoulders and put her feet into the slippers. They're real, too. It's all real, she cried. I am not—I am not dreaming! She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon the top. Something was written on the fly-leaf, just a few words, and these were to the little girl in the attic, from a friend. When she saw that, wasn't it a strange thing for her to do? She put her face down upon the page and burst into tears. I don't know who it is, she said, but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend. She took her candle and stole out of her own room and into Becky's, 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, Sarah, as she remembered her, stood at her very bedside, holding a candle in her hand. Come! she said. Oh, Becky, come! Becky was too frightened to speak. She simply got up and followed her with her mouth and eyes open and without a word. And when they crossed the threshold, Sarah shut the door gently and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things which made her brain real and her hungry senses faint. It's true, it's true, she cried. I've touched them all. They're as real as we are. The magic has come and done it, Becky, while we were asleep. The magic that won't let those worse things ever quite happen. THE VISITOR Imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. How they crouched by the fire which blazed and leaped and made so much of itself in the little grate. How they removed the covers of the 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 Sarah that, having found her strange good fortune wheel, 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 any one 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'll 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 faulted 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 Sarah. I am eating this muffin, and I can taste it. You never really eat things in dreams.  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 Sarah 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 morning, miss, she said, it's spinny at a night anyways, and 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, and the table was before it, and the lamp was there, and the light looked rosy red, and there was a satin cover on your bed, and a warm rug on the floor, and everything looked beautiful, and she paused a second and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly. There was soup and sandwiches and muffins, there was. And with this conviction of 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 Sarah Crue was in horrible disgrace, that Ermengard 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 Mention 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 Mention did not send Sarah away, it was for practical reasons of her own. "'She's growing so fast and learning such a lot somehow,' said Jesse to Levinia, that she will be given classes soon, and Miss Mention knows she will have to work for nothing. It was rather nasty of you, Laby, 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 Mention. I felt it my duty, prigishly. 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 Mention caught them? Pretending some silly thing. Ermengard had taken up her hamper to share with Sarah 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 and attics. I wonder Miss Mention didn't turn Sarah out, even if she does want her for a teacher. If she was turned out, where would she go? inquired Jesse, a trifle anxiously. How do I know? snapped Levinia. She looked 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. Jesse was not as ill-natured as she was silly.  Well, I think it's horrid, she said. They've no right to starve her to death. When Sarah went into the kitchen that morning, the cook looked a scounce at her, and so did the housemates. 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. Sarah 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 waken, miss, the black kid, she whispered excitedly. It was as real as it was last night. So was mine, said Sarah. It is all there now, all of it. While I was dressing, I ate some of the cold things we left. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord!  Miss Minchin had expected to see in Sarah when she appeared in the schoolroom very much what Lavinia had expected to see. Sarah had always been an annoying puzzle to her, because severity never made her cry or looked 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 impuence 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 superintendent's 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 a child made of? What could such a thing mean? She called her at once to her desk.  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.  I beg your pardon, Miss Minchin, she said. I know that I am in this grace. Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you had come into a fortune. It is an impotence, and remember you ought to have no food to-day. Yes, Miss Minchin, Sarah answered, but as she turned away her heart leaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. If the magic had not saved me just in time, she thought, how horrible it would have been. She can't be very hungry, whispered Lavinia. Just look at her. Perhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast, with a spiteful laugh. She's different from other people, said Jesse, watching Sarah with her class. Sometimes I'm a bit frightened of her. Ridiculous thing, ejaculated Lavinia. All through the day the light was in Sarah's face, and the colour in her cheek. The servants cast puzzled glances at her, and whispered to each other, and Miss Amelia's small blue eyes wore an expression of bewilderment. What such an audacious look of well-being under august displeasure could mean, she could not understand. It was, however, just like Sarah's singular obstinate way. She was probably determined to brave the matter out. One thing Sarah had resolved upon as she thought things over. The wonders which had happened must be kept a secret, if such a thing were possible. If Miss Minchin should choose to mount to the attic again, of course all would be discovered. But it did not seem likely that she would do so for some time at least, unless she was led by suspicion. Irmingard and Lottie would be watched with such strictness that they would not dare to steal out of their beds again. Irmingard could be told the story and trusted to keep it secret. If Lottie made any discoveries, she could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the magic itself would help to hide its own marvels. But whatever happens, Sarah kept saying to herself all day, whatever happens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenly kind person who is my friend, my friend. If I never know who it is, if I never can even thank him, I shall never feel quite so lonely. Oh, the magic is good to me. If it was possible for weather to be worse than it had been the day before, it was worse this day, wetter, muddier, colder. There were more errands to be done, the cook was more irritable, and knowing that Sarah was in disgrace, she was more savage. But what does anything matter when one's magic has just proved itself one's friend? Sarah's supper of the night before had given her strength. She knew that she should sleep well and warmly, and, even though she had naturally begun to be hungry again before evening, she felt that she could bear it until breakfast time the following day, when her meals would surely be given to her again. It was quite late when she was at last allowed to go upstairs. She had been told to go into the schoolroom and study until ten o'clock, and she had become interested in her work and remained over her books later. When she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before the attic door, it must be confessed that her heart beat rather fast. Of course, it might all have been taken away, she whispered, trying to be brave. It might only have been lent to me for just that one awful night. But it was lent to me. I had it. It was real. She pushed the door open and went in. Once inside she gasped slightly, shut the door, and stood with her back against it, looking from side to side. The magic had been there again. It actually had, and it had done even more than before. The fire was blazing in lovely, leaping flames more merrily than ever. A number of new things had been brought into the attic, which so altered the look of it that if she had not been past doubting, she would have rubbed her eyes. Upon the low table another supper stood, this time with cups and plates for Becky as well as herself.  All the bare, ugly things which could be covered with draperies had been concealed, and made to look quite pretty. Some odd materials of which colours had been fastened against the wall with fine, sharp tacks, so sharp that they could be pressed into the wood in plaster without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were several large cushions, big and substantial enough to use as seats. A wooden box was covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it quite wore the air of a sofa. Sarah slowly moved away from the door and simply sat down and looked and looked again. It is exactly like something fairy come true, she said. There isn't the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything, diamonds or bags of gold, and they would appear. That wouldn't be any stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged damp Sarah? And to think I used to pretend and pretend and wish there were fairies. The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am living in a fairy story. I feel as if I might be a fairy myself and be able to turn things into anything else. She rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in the next cell, and the prisoner came. When she entered, she almost dropped in a heap upon the floor. For a few seconds she quite lost her breath. Oh, lords! she gasped. Oh, lords, miss! You see! said Sarah. On this night Becky sat on a cushion upon the hearth rug and had a cup and saucer of her own. When Sarah went to bed, she found that she had a new thick mattress and big downy pillows. Her old mattress and pillow had been removed to Becky's bedstead, and consequently, with these additions, Becky had been supplied with unheard of comfort. Where does it all come from, Becky broke forth once. Lord, who does it, miss? Don't let us even ask, said Sarah. If it were not that I want to say thank you, and I would rather not know, it makes it more beautiful. From that time life became more wonderful day by day. The fairy story continued. Almost every day something new was done. Some new comfort or ornament appeared each time Sarah opened the door at night, until, in a short time, the attic was a beautiful little room full of all sorts of odd and luxurious things. The ugly walls were gradually entirely covered with pictures and draperies. In genius pieces of folding furniture appeared, a bookshelf was hung up and filled with books. New comforts and conveniences appeared one by one, until there seemed nothing left to be desired. When Sarah went downstairs in the morning, the remains of the supper were on the table, and when she returned to the attic in the evening, the magician had removed them and left another nice little meal. Miss Minchin was as harsh and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia, as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar and rude. Sarah was sent on errands in all weathers, and scolded and driven hither and thither. She was scarcely allowed to speak to Ermondgaard and Lottie. Lavinia sneered at the increasing shabbiness of her clothes, and the other girls stared curiously at her when she appeared in the schoolroom. But what did it all matter while she was living in this wonderful mysterious story? It was more romantic and delightful than anything she had ever invented to comfort her starved young soul and save herself from despair. Sometimes when she was scolded she could scarcely keep from smiling. If you only knew, she was saying to herself, if you only knew. The comfort and happiness she enjoyed were making her stronger, and she had them always to look forward to. If she came home from her errands wet and tired and hungry, she knew she would soon be warm and well fed after she had climbed the stairs. During the hardest day she could occupy herself blissfully by thinking of what she should see when she opened the attic door, and wondering what new delight had been prepared for her. In a very short time she began to look less thin. Color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem so much too big for her face. Sarah Crew looks wonderfully well, Miss Minchin remarked, disapprovingly to her sister. Yes! answered poor, silly Miss Amelia. She is absolutely fattening.  Starved? exclaimed Miss Minchin angrily. There was no reason why she should look starved. She always had plenty to eat. Oh! of course! agreed Miss Amelia humbly, alarmed to find that she had, as usual, said the wrong thing. There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort of thing in a child her age, said Miss Minchin with haughty vagueness. What sort of thing? Miss Amelia ventured. It might almost be called defiance, answered Miss Minchin, feeling annoyed, because she knew the thing she resented was nothing like defiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant term to use. The spirit and will of any other child would have been entirely humbled and broken by the changes she has had to submit to. But upon my word, she seems as little subdued as if she were a princess. Do you remember, put in the unwise Miss Amelia, what she said to you that day in the schoolroom about what you would do if you found out that she was, no, I don't, said Miss Minchin, don't talk nonsense. But she remembered very clearly indeed. Very naturally even Becky was beginning to look plumper and less frightened. She could not help it. She had her share in the secret fairy story, too. She had two mattresses, two pillows, plenty of bed covering, and every night a hot supper and a seat on the cushions by the fire. The Bastille had melted away, the prisoners no longer existed. Two comforted children sat in the midst of delights. Sometimes Sarah read aloud from her books. Sometimes she learned her own lessons. Sometimes she sat and looked into the fire, and tried to imagine who her friend could be, and wished she could say to him some of the things in her heart. Then it came about that another wonderful thing happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were addressed in large letters to the little girl in the right-hand attic. Sarah herself was sent to open the door and take them in. She laid the two largest parcels on the hall table, and was looking at the address when Miss Minchin came down the stairs and saw her. Take the things to the young lady to whom they belong, she said severely. Don't stand there staring at them. They belong to me, answered Sarah quietly. To you, exclaimed Miss Minchin, what do you mean? I don't know where they come from, said Sarah, but they are addressed to me. I sleep in the right-hand attic. Becky has the other one. Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at the parcels with an excited expression. What is in them? she demanded. I don't know, replied Sarah. Open them, she ordered. Sarah did as she was told. When the packages were unfolded, Miss Minchin's countenance wore suddenly a singular expression. What she saw was pretty and comfortable clothing, clothing of different kinds, shoes, stockings, and gloves, and a warm and beautiful coat. There was even a nice hat and an umbrella. They were all good and expensive things, and on the pocket of the coat was pinned the paper on which were written these words. To be worn every day, will be replaced by others when necessary. Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a mistake after all, and that the neglected child had some powerful though eccentric friend in the background, perhaps some previously unknown relation who had suddenly traced her whereabouts and chose to provide for her in this mysterious and fantastic way? Relations were sometimes very odd, particularly rich old bachelor uncles who did not care for having children near them. A man of that sort might prefer to overlook his young relations welfare at a distance. Such a person, however, would be sure to be crotchety and hot-tempered enough to be easily offended. It would not be very pleasant if there were such a one, and he should learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, and the hard work. She felt very queer indeed, and very uncertain, and she gave a side glance at Sarah. Well, she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the little girl lost her father. Someone is very kind to you. As the things have been sent, and you are to have new ones when they are worn out, you may as well go and put them on and look respectable. After you are dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the schoolroom. You need not go out on any more errands today. About half an hour afterward, when the schoolroom door opened and Sarah walked in, the entire seminary was struck dumb. My word! ejaculated Jesse, jogging Lavinia's elbow. Look at the Princess Sarah! Everybody was looking, and when Lavinia looked, she turned quite red. It was the Princess Sarah, indeed. At least, since the days when she had been a princess, Sarah had never looked as she did now. She did not seem the Sarah they had seen come down the back stairs a few hours ago. She was dressed in the kind of frock Lavinia had been used to envying her the possession of. It was deep and warm in colour and beautifully made. Her slender feet looked as they had done when Jesse had admired them, and the hair, whose heavy locks had made her look rather like a shetland pony when it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tied back with a ribbon. Perhaps someone has left her a fortune, Jesse whispered. I always thought something would happen to her. She's so queer. Perhaps the diamond minds have suddenly reappeared again, said Lavinia scathingly.  Sarah, broke in Miss Minchin's deep voice, come and sit here. And while the whole schoolroom stared and pushed with elbows and scarcely made any effort to conceal its excited curiosity, Sarah went to her old seat of honour, and bent her head over her books. That night when she went to her room, after she and Becky had eaten their supper, she sat and looked at the fire seriously for a long time.  Becky inquired with respectful softness. When Sarah sat in silence and looked into the coals with dreaming eyes, it generally meant that she was making a news story. But this time she was not, and she shook her head. No, she answered. I am wondering what I ought to do. Becky stared, still respectfully. She was filled with something approaching reverence for everything Sarah did and said. I can't help thinking about my friend, Sarah explained. If he wants to keep himself a secret, it would be rude to try and find out who he is. But I do so want him to know how thankful I am to him and how happy he has made me. Anyone who is kind wants to know when people have been made happy. They care for that more than for being thanked. I wish—I do wish—she stopped short, because her eyes at that instant fell upon something standing on a table in a corner. It was something she had found in the room when she came out to it only two days before. It was a little writing case, fitted with paper and envelopes and pens and ink. Oh! she exclaimed. Why did I not think of that before? She rose and went to the corner, and brought the case back to the fire. I can write to him, she said joyfully, and leave it on the table. Then perhaps the person who takes the things away will take it too. I won't ask him anything. He won't mind my thanking him, I feel sure. So she wrote a note. This is what she said. I hope you will not think it is impolite that I should write this note to you, when you wish to keep yourself a secret. Please believe I do not mean to be impolite, or try to find out anything at all. I only want to thank you for being so kind to me, so heavenly kind, and making everything like a fairy story. I am so grateful to you, and I am so happy, and so is Becky. Becky feels just as thankful as I do. It is all just as beautiful and wonderful to her as it is to me. We used to be so lonely and cold and hungry, and now—oh, just thank you for what you have done for us. Please let me just say these words. It seems as if I ought to say them. Thank you, thank you, thank you. The little girl in the attic. The next morning she left this on the little table, and in the evening it had been taken away with the other things, so she knew the magician had received it, and she was happier for the thought. She was reading one of her new books to Becky just before they went to their respective beds, when her attention was attracted by a sound at the skylight. When she looked up from her page, she saw that Becky had heard the sound also, as she had turned her head to look and was listening rather nervously. Something's there, miss, she whispered. Yes, said Sarah slowly. It sounds—rather like a cat—trying to get in. She left her chair and went to the skylight.  She suddenly remembered something and laughed. She remembered a quaint little intruder who had made his way into the attic once before. She had seen him that very afternoon, sitting disconsolently on a table before a window in the Indian gentleman's house. Suppose, she whispered in pleased excitement, just suppose it was the monkey who got away again. Oh, I wish it was. She climbed on a chair, very cautiously raised the skylight and peeped out.  It is the monkey, she cried out. He has crept out of the last gauze attic and he saw the light. Becky ran to her side. Are you going to let him in, miss? She said. Yes, Sarah answered joyfully. It's too cold for monkeys to be out. They're delicate. I'll coax him in. She put her hand out delicately, speaking in a coaxing voice, as she spoke to the sparrows and to Melchizedek, as if she were some friendly little animal herself. Come along, monkey, darling, she said. I won't hurt you. He knew she would not hurt him. He knew it before she laid her soft caressing little pore on him and drew him towards her. He had felt human love in the slim, brown hands of ramdass, and he felt it in hers. He let her lift him through the skylight, and when he found himself in her arms, he cuddled up to her breast and looked up into her face.  Oh, I do love little animal things. He was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she sat down and held him on her knee, he looked from her to Becky with mingled interest and appreciation. He is plain looking, Miss Aitie, said Becky. He looks like a very ugly baby, loved Sarah. I beg your pardon, monkey, but I am glad you are not a baby.  Oh, I do like you.  Perhaps he's sorry he's so ugly, she said, and it's always on his mind. I wonder if he has a mind. Monkey, my love, have you a mind?  What shall you do with him? Becky asked. I shall let him sleep with me to-night, and then take him back to the Indian gentleman to-morrow. I am sorry to take you back, monkey, but you must go.  And I'm not a real relation. And when she went to bed, she made him a nest at her feet, and he curled up and slept there, as if he were a baby and much pleased with his quarters. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of A Little Princess by Francis Hodgson Burnett Read for LibriVox.org by Karen Savage in September 2007 Chapter 17 It is the Child The next afternoon three members of the large family sat in the Indian gentleman's library during their best to cheer him up. They had been allowed to come in to perform this office because he had specially invited them. He had been living in a state of suspense for some time, and today he was waiting for a certain event very anxiously. This event was the return of Mr. Carmichael from Moscow. His stay there had been prolonged from week to week. On his first arrival there, he had not been able to satisfactorily trace the family he had gone in search of.  His efforts to reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided to remain in Moscow until their return. Mr. Karrisford sat in his reclining chair, and Janet sat on the floor beside him. He was very fond of Janet. Nora had found a footstool, and Donald was astride the tiger's head, which ornamented the rug made of the animal's skin. It must be owned that he was riding it rather violently. Don't cheer up so loud, Donald, Janet said. When you come to cheer an ill person up, you don't cheer him up at the top of your voice. Perhaps the cheering up is too loud, Mr. Karrisford, turning to the Indian gentleman. But he only patted her shoulder. No, it isn't, he answered, and it keeps me from thinking too much. I'm going to be quiet, Donald shouted. Well, all be as quiet as mice. Mice don't make a noise like that, said Janet. Donald made a bridal of his handkerchief, and bounced up and down on the tiger's head. A whole lot of mice might, he said cheerfully, a thousand mice might. I don't believe fifty thousand mice would, said Janet severely, and we have to be as quiet as one mouse. Mr. Karrisford laughed and patted her shoulder again. Papa won't be very long now, she said. May we talk about the lost little girl? I don't think I could talk much about anything else just now, the Indian gentleman answered, knitting his forehead with a tired look. We like her so much, said Nora. We call her the little unfairly princess. Why, the Indian gentleman inquired, because the fancies of the large family always made him forget things a little. It was Janet who answered. It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will be so rich when she is found that she will be like a princess in a fairy tale. We called her the fairy princess at first, but it didn't quite suit. Is it true, said Nora, that her papa gave all his money to a friend to put in a mind that had diamonds in it, and then the friend thought he had lost it all and ran away because he felt as if he was a robber? But he wasn't really, you know, put in Janet hastily. The Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly. No, he wasn't really, he said. I'm sorry for the friend, Janet said. I can't help it. He didn't mean to do it, and it would break his heart. I'm sure it would break his heart.  Did you tell Mr. Karrisford—Donald shouted again— about the little girl who isn't a beggar? Did you tell him she has new nice clothes? Perhaps she's been found by somebody when she was lost. There's a cab, exclaimed Janet. It's stopping before the door. It is papa. They all ran to the windows to look out. Yes, it is papa, Donald proclaimed, but there is no little girl. All three of them incontinently fled the room and tumbled into the hall. It was in this way they always welcomed their father. They were to be heard jumping up and down, clapping their hands and being caught up and kissed. Mr. Karrisford made an effort to rise and sank back again. It is no use, he said. What a wreck I am. Mr. Karr Michael's voice approached the door. No children, he was saying. You may come in after I have talked to Mr. Karrisford. Go and play with Ram Dass. Then the door opened and he came in. He looked rosier than ever and brought an atmosphere of freshness and health with him. But his eyes were disappointed and anxious as they met the invalid's look of eager question, even as they grasped each other's hands. What news, Mr. Karrisford asked. The child of the Russian people adopted? She is not the child we are looking for, was Mr. Karr Michael's answer. She is much younger than Captain Cruz, little girl. Her name is Emily Karoo. I have seen and talked to her. The Russians were able to give me every detail. How wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman looked, his hand dropped for Mr. Karr Michael's. Then the search has to be begun all over again, he said. That is all. Please, sit down. Mr. Karr Michael took a seat. Somehow he had gradually grown fond of this unhappy man. He was himself so well and happy and so surrounded by cheerfulness and love that desolation and broken health seemed pitifully unbearable things. If there had been the sound of just one gay little high-pitched voice in the house, it would have been so much less forlorn. And that a man should be compelled to carry about in his breast the thought that he had seemed to wrong the deserted child was not a thing one could face. Come, come, he said in his cheery voice, we'll find her yet. We must begin at once. No time must be lost, Mr. Karrisford fretted. Have you any new suggestion to make? Any whatsoever? Mr. Karr Michael felt rather restless and he rose and began to pace the room with a thoughtful, though uncertain face. Well, perhaps, he said, I don't know what it may be worth. The fact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing over in the train on the journey from Dover. What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere. Yes, she is somewhere. We have searched the schools in Paris. Let us give up Paris and begin in London. That was my idea—to search London. There are schools enough in London, so Mr. Karrisford, then he slightly started roused by a recollection. By the way, there is one next door. Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer than next door. No, Karrisford said.  Perhaps the magic was of work again at that very moment, the beautiful magic. It really seemed as if it might be so. What was it that brought Rambas into the room, even as his master spoke, salaming respectfully, but with a scarcely concealed touch of excitement in his dark, flashing eyes? Sa'ib, he said. The child herself has come. The child that Sa'ib felt pity for. She brings back the monkey who had again run away to her attic under the roof. I have asked that she remain. It was my thought that it would please the Sa'ib to see and speak with her. Who is she? inquired Carmichael. God knows, Mr. Karrisford answered.  He waved his hand to Rambas and addressed him. Yes, I should like to see her. Go and bring her in. Then he turned to Mr. Carmichael. While you have been away, he explained, I have been desperate. The days were so dark and long. Rambas told me of this child's miseries, and together we invented a romantic plan to help her. I suppose it was a childish thing to do, but it gave me something to plan and think of. Without the help of an agile, soft-footed oriental like Rambas, however, it could not have been done. Then Sarah came into the room. She carried the monkey in her arms, and he evidently did not intend to part from her, if it could be helped. He was clinging to her and chattering, and the interesting excitement of finding herself in the Indian gentleman's room had brought a flush to Sarah's cheeks. Your monkey ran away again, she said in her pretty voice. He came to my garret window last night, and I took him in because it was so cold. I would have brought him back if it had not been so late. I knew you were ill and might not like to be disturbed. The Indian gentleman's hollow eyes dwelt on her with curious interest. That was very thoughtful of you, he said. Sarah looked toward Rambas, who stood near the door. Shall I give him to the Laskar? she asked.  Oh, I know Laskars, Sarah said, handing over the reluctant monkey. I was born in India. The Indian gentleman sat upright so suddenly, and with such a change of expression, that she was for a moment quite startled. You were born in India, he exclaimed, were you? Come here. And he held out his hand. Sarah went to him and laid her hand in his, as he seemed to want to take it. She stood still, and her green gray eyes met his, wanderingly. Some things seemed to be the matter with him. You live next door, he demanded. Yes, I live at Miss Minchon Seminary. But you are not one of her pupils.  She hesitated a moment. I don't think I know exactly what I am, she replied. Why not? At first I was a pupil and a parlor-border, but now you were a pupil. What are you now?  I sleep in the attic next to the scullery-may, she said. I run errands for the cook. I do anything she tells me, and I teach the little ones their lessons. Question her, Carmichael, said Mr. Karrisford, sinking back as if he had lost his strength. Question her, I cannot. The big, kind father of a large family knew how to question little girls. Sarah realised how much practice he had had when he spoke to her in his nice, encouraging voice. What do you mean by at first, my child, he inquired? When I was first taken there by my papa. Where is your papa? He died, said Sarah, very quietly. He lost all his money, and there was none left for me. There was no one to take care of me or to pay Miss Minchin. Carmichael, the Indian gentleman cried out loudly, Carmichael, we must not frighten her. Mr. Carmichael said aside to him in a quick, low voice, and he added aloud to Sarah, so you were sent up into the attic and made into a little drudge. That was about it, wasn't it? There was no one to take care of me, said Sarah. There was no money. I belonged to nobody. How did your father lose his money? The Indian gentleman broke in breathlessly. He did not lose it himself, Sarah answered, wandering still more each moment. He had a friend he was very fond of. He was very fond of him. It was his friend who took his money. He trusted his friend too much. The Indian gentleman's breath came more quickly. The friend might have meant to do no harm, he said. It might have happened through a mistake. Sarah did not know how unrelenting her quiet young voice sounded as she answered. If she had known, she would surely have tried to soften it for the Indian gentleman's sake. The suffering was just as bad for my papa, she said. It killed him. What was your father's name? The Indian gentleman said, tell me. His name was Ralph Crue, Sarah answered, feeling startled. Captain Crue. He died in India. The haggard face contracted, and Ram Das sprang to his master's side. Oh, my God! The invalid gasped. It is the child, the child. For a moment Sarah thought he was going to die. Ram Das poured out drops from a bottle and held them to his lips. Sarah stood near, trembling a little. She looked in a bewildered way at Mr. Carmichael. What child am I? She faltered. He was your father's friend, Mr. Carmichael answered her. Don't be frightened. We have been looking for you for two years.  She spoke as if she were in a dream. And I was at Miss Minchin's all the while, she half whispered. Just on the other side of the wall. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of A Little Princess by Francis Hodgson Burnett Read for LibriVox.org by Karen Savage in September 2007 Chapter 18 I Tried Not To Be It was pretty comfortable Mrs. Carmichael who explained everything. She was sent for it once, and came across the square to take Sarah into her warm arms, and make clear to her all that had happened. The excitement of the totally unexpected discovery had been temporarily almost overpowering to Mr. Charisford in his weak condition. Upon my word, he said faintly to Mr. Carmichael when it was suggested that the little girl should go into another room. I feel as if I do not want to lose sight of her. I will take care of her, Janet said, and Mama will come in a few minutes. And it was Janet who led her away. We're so glad you're found, she said. You don't know how glad we are that you're found. Donald stood with his hands in his pockets and gazed at Sarah with reflecting and self-reproachful eyes. If I just asked you what your name was when I gave you my sixpence, he said, you would have told me it was Sarah, crew, and then you would have been found in a minute. Then Mrs. Carmichael came in. She looked very much moved, and suddenly took Sarah in her arms and kissed her. She looked bewildered, poor child, she said, and it is not to be wondered at. Sarah could only think of one thing. Was he, she said, with a glance towards the closed door of the library, was he the wicked friend? Oh, do tell me. Mrs. Carmichael was crying as she kissed her again. She felt as if she ought to be kissed very often because she had not been kissed for so long. He was not wicked, my dear, she answered. He did not really lose your papa's money. He only thought he had lost it, and because he loved him so much, his grief made him so ill that for a time he was not in his right mind. He almost died of brain fever, and long before he began to recover your poor papa was dead. And he did not know where to find me, murmured Sarah, and I was so near. Somehow she could not forget that she had been so near. He believed you were in school in France, Mrs. Carmichael explained, and he was continually misled by false clues. He has looked for you everywhere. When he saw you pass by looking so sad and neglected, he did not dream that you were his friend's poor child, but because you were a little girl too, he was sorry for you and wanted to make you happier. And he told Ram Dass to climb into your attic window and try to make you comfortable. Sarah gave a start of joy. Her whole look changed. Did Ram Dass bring the things? She cried out. Did he tell Ram Dass to do it? Did he make the dream that came true? Yes, my dear, yes. He is kind and good, and he was sorry for you, for little lost Sarah Crusade. The library door opened and Mr. Carmichael appeared, calling Sarah to him with a gesture. Mr. Carasford is better already, he said. He wants you to come to him. Sarah did not wait. When the Indian gentleman looked at her as she entered, he saw that her face was all alight. She went and stood before his chair, with her hands clasped together against her breast. You sent the things to me, she said, in a joyful, emotional little voice. The beautiful, beautiful things, you sent them. Yes, poor dear child, I did, he answered. He was weak and broken with long illness and trouble, but he looked at her with the look she remembered in her father's eyes, that look of loving her, and wanting to take her in his arms. It made her kneel down by him, just as she used to kneel by her father, when they were the dearest friends and lovers in the world. Then it is you who are my friend, she said. It is you who are my friend. And she dropped her face on his thin hand, and kissed it again and again. The man will be himself again in three weeks, Mr. Carmichael said aside to his wife. Look at his face already. In fact, he did look changed. Here was the little missus, and he had new things to think of and plan for already. In the first place there was Miss Minchin. She must be interviewed and told of the change which had taken place in the fortunes of her pupil. Sarah was not to return to the seminary at all. The Indian gentleman was very determined upon that point. She must remain where she was, and Mr. Carmichael should go and see Miss Minchin himself. I am glad I need not go back, said Sarah. She will be very angry. She does not like me, though perhaps it is my fault, because I do not like her. But oddly enough, Miss Minchin made it unnecessary for Mr. Carmichael to go to her, by actually coming in search of her pupil herself. She had wanted Sarah for something, and on inquiry had heard an astonishing thing. One of the housemates had seen her seal out of the area with something hidden under her cloak, and had also seen her go up the steps of the house next door and enter the house. What does she mean? cried Miss Minchin to Miss Amelia. I do not know why I am sure, sister, asked of Miss Amelia, unless she has made friends with him because he has lived in India. It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him and tried to gain his sympathies in some such impertinent fashion, said Miss Minchin. She must have been in the house for two hours. I will not allow such presumption. I shall go and inquire into the matter and apologise for her intrusion. Sarah was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Carrisford's knee, and listening to some of the many things he felt it necessary to try to explain to her, when Ram Dass announced the visit his arrival. Sarah rose involuntarily and became rather pale, but Mr. Carrisford saw that she stood quietly, and showed none of the ordinary signs of child terror. Miss Minchin entered the room with a sternly dignified manner. She was correctly and well dressed, and rigidly polite. I am sorry to disturb Mr. Carrisford, she said, but I have explanations to make. I am Miss Minchin, the proprietress of the young lady's seminary, next door. The Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in silent scrutiny. He was a man who had naturally a rather hot temper, and he did not wish it to get too much the better of him. So you are Miss Minchin, he said. I am so. In that case, the Indian gentleman replied, you have arrived at the right time. My solicitor, Mr. Carr Michael, was just on the point of going to see you. Mr. Carr Michael bowed slightly, and Miss Minchin looked from him to Mr. Carrisford in amazement. You're solicitor, she said. I do not understand. I have come here as a matter of duty. I have just discovered that you have been intruded upon by the forwardness of one of my pupils, a charity pupil. I came to explain that she intruded without my knowledge. She turned upon Sarah. Go home at once, she commanded indignantly. You shall be severely punished. Go home at once. The Indian gentleman drew Sarah to his side and patted her hand. She is not going. Miss Minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her senses. Not going, she repeated. No, said Mr. Carrisford. She is not going home. If you give your house that name, her home for the future will be with me. Miss Minchin fell back in amazed indignation. With you? With you, sir? What does this mean? Kindly explain the matter, Carmichael, said the Indian gentleman, and get it over as quickly as possible. And he made Sarah sit down again, and held her hands in his, which was another trick of her pappers. Then Mr. Carmichael explained, in the quiet, level-toned, steady manner of a man who knew his subject, and all its legal significance, which was a thing Miss Minchin understood as a businesswoman, and did not enjoy. Mr. Carrisford, madam, he said, was an intimate friend of the late Captain Crue. He was his partner in certain large investments. The fortune which Captain Crue supposed he had lost has been recovered, and is now in Mr. Carrisford's hands. The fortune, cried Miss Minchin, and she really lost colour as she uttered the exclamation. Sarah's fortune? It will be Sarah's fortune, replied Mr. Carmichael rather coldly. It is Sarah's fortune now, in fact. Certain events have increased it enormously. The diamond mines have retrieved themselves. The diamond mines, Miss Minchin gasped out. If this was true, nothing so horrible she felt had ever happened to her since she was born. The diamond mines, Mr. Carmichael repeated, and he could not help adding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like smile. There are not many princesses, Miss Minchin, who are richer than your little charity pupil Sarah Crue will be. Mr. Carrisford has been searching for her for nearly two years. He has found her at last, and he will keep her. After which he asked Miss Minchin to sit down while he explained matters to her fully, and went into such detail as was necessary to make it quite clear to her that Sarah's future was an assured one, and that what had seemed to be lost was to be restored to her tenfold, also that she had in Mr. Carrisford a guardian as well as a friend. Miss Minchin was not a clever woman, and in her excitement she was silly enough to make one desperate effort to regain what she could not help seeing she had lost through her worldly folly. He found her under my care, she protested. I have done everything for her, but for me she should have starved in the streets. Here the Indian gentleman lost his temper. As to starving in the streets, he said, she might have starved more comfortably there than in your attic. Captain Crue left her in my charge, Miss Minchin argued. She must return to it until she is of age. She can be a panel-border again. She must finish her education. The law will interfere in my behalf. Come, come, Miss Minchin, Mr. Carmichael interposed. The law will do nothing of the sort. If Sarah herself wishes to return to you, I dare say Mr. Carrisford might not refuse to allow it, but that rests with Sarah. Then, said Miss Minchin, I appeal to Sarah.  Sarah's green gray eyes fixed themselves on her with the quiet, clear look Miss Minchin particularly disliked. Have you, Miss Minchin? she said. I did not know that. Miss Minchin reddened and drew herself up. You ought to have known it, said she, but children, unfortunately, never know what is best for them. Amelia and I always said you were the cleverest child in the school. Will you not do your duty to your poor papa and come home with me? Sarah took a step toward her and stood still. She was thinking of the day when she had been told that she belonged to nobody, and was in danger of being turned into the street. She was thinking of the cold, hungry hours she had spent alone with Emily and Melchizedek and the Attic. She looked Miss Minchin steadily in the face.  You know quite well.  You will never see your companions again, she began. I will see that Ermengard and Lottie are kept away. Mr. Carmichael stopped her with polite firmness. Excuse me, he said. She will see any one she wishes to see. The parents of Miss Cru's fellow pupils are not likely to refuse her invitations to visit her at her guardian's house. Mr. Carrisford will attend to that. It must be confessed that even Miss Minchin flinched. This was worse than the eccentric bachelor uncle who might have a peppery temper and be easily offended at the treatment of his niece. A woman of sordid mind could easily believe that most people would not refuse to allow their children to remain friends with a little heiress of diamond minds. And if Mr. Carrisford chose to tell certain of her patrons how unhappy Sarah Crue had been made, many unpleasant things might happen. You have not undertaken an easy charge, she said to the Indian gentleman as she turned to leave the room. You will discover that very soon. The child is neither truthful nor grateful. I suppose, to Sarah, that you feel now that you are a princess again. Sarah looked down and flushed a little, because she thought her ped-fancy might not be easy for strangers, even nice ones, to understand at first. I tried not to be anything else, she answered in a low voice. Even when I was coldest and hungriest, I tried not to be. Now it will not be necessary to try, said Miss Minchin acidly, as Ram Dass alarmed her out of the room. She returned home and, going to her sitting-room, centered once for Miss Amelia. She sat closeted with her all the rest of the afternoon, and it must be admitted that poor Miss Amelia passed through more than one bad quarter of an hour. She shed a good many tears and mopped her eyes a good deal. One of her unfortunate remarks almost caused her sister to snap her head entirely off, but it resulted in an unusual manner. I am not as clever as you, sister, she said, and I am always afraid to say things to you for fear of making you angry. Perhaps if I were not so timid, it would be better for the school and for both of us. I must say I have often thought it would have been better if you had been less severe on Sarah Crue, and had seen that she was decently dressed and more comfortable. I know she was worked too hard for a child of her age, and I know she was only half-fed.  I don't know how I dare, Miss Amelia answered, with a kind of reckless courage. But now I have begun, I may as well finish whatever happens to me. The child was a clever child and a good child, and she would have paid you for any kindness you had shown her, but you didn't show her any. The fact was, she was too clever for you, and you always disliked her for that reason. She used to see through us both. Amelia! gasped for infuriated elder, looking as if she would box her ears and knock her cap off, as she had often done to Becky.  She did! She did! She cried. She saw through us both. She saw that you were a hard-hearted, worldly woman, and that I was a weak fool, and that we were both of us vulgar and mean enough to grovel on our knees for her money, and behave ill to her because it was taken from her. Though she behaved herself like a little princess, even when she was a beggar, she did! She did! Like a little princess! And her hysterics got the better of the poor woman, and she began to laugh and cry both at once, and rock herself backward and forward. And now you've lost her, she cried wildly, and some other school will get her and her money, and if she were like any other child, she'd tell how she'd been treated, and all our pupils will be taken away, and we should be ruined.  And she was in danger of making so much noise with her hysterical chokes and gurgles, that her sister was obliged to go to her and apply sorts and salvolatile to quiet her, instead of pouring forth her indignation at her audacity. And from that time forward, it may be mentioned, the elder Miss Minchin actually began to stand a little in awe of a sister who, while she looked so foolish, was evidently not quite so foolish as she looked, and might consequently break out and speak truths people did not want to hear.  It was queer, because, while it was an expression of delighted excitement, it was combined with such amazement as seemed to belong to a kind of shock just received. What is the matter? cried two or three voices at once. Is it anything to do with the row that has been going on? said Lavinia eagerly. There has been such a row in Miss Minchin's room, Miss Amelia has had something like hysterics, and has had to go to bed. Bermond Guard answered them slowly as if she were half stunned. I've just had this letter from Sarah, she said, holding it out to let them see what a long letter it was. From Sarah? Every voice joined in that exclamation. Where is she? almost shrieked Jesse. Next door, said Bermond Guard, with the Indian gentleman. Where? Where? Has she been sent away? Does Miss Minchin know? Was the row about that? Why did she write? Tell us, tell us! There was a perfect babble, and Lottie began to cry plaintively. Bermond Guard answered them slowly, as if she were half plunged out into what, at the moment, seemed the most important and self-explaining thing. There were diamond mines, she said stoutly. There were. Open mouths and open eyes confronted her. They were real, she hurried on. It was all a mistake about them. Something happened for a time, and Mr. Karisford thought they were ruined. Who is Mr. Karisford? shouted Jesse. The Indian gentleman. And Captain Crew thought so too, and he died, and Mr. Karisford had brain fever and ran away, and he almost died. And he did not know where Sarah was. And it turned out that there were millions and millions of diamonds in the mines, and half of them belonged to Sarah. And they belonged to her when she was living in the attic, with no one but Melchizedek for a friend, and the cook ordering her about. And Mr. Karisford found her this afternoon, and he has got her in his house, and she will never come back. And she will be more a princess than she ever was, a hundred and fifty thousand times more. And I am going to see her tomorrow afternoon. There! Even Miss Minchin herself could scarcely have controlled the uproar after this. And though she heard the noise, she did not try. She was not in the mood to face anything more than she was facing in her room, while Miss Amelia was weeping in bed. She knew that the news had penetrated the walls in some mysterious manner, and that every servant and every child would go to bed talking about it. So until almost midnight, the entire seminary, realizing somehow that all rules were laid aside, crowded around Ermengard in the schoolroom, and heard, read and reread the letter containing a story which was quite as wonderful as any Sarah herself had ever invented, and which had the amazing charm of having happened to Sarah herself, and the mystic Indian gentleman in the very next house. Becky, who had heard it also, managed to creep upstairs earlier than usual. She wanted to get away from people, and go and look at the little magic room once more. She did not know what would happen to it. It was not likely that it would be left to Miss Minchin. It would be taken away, and the attic would be bare and empty again. Glad as she was for Sarah's sake, she went up the last flight of stairs with a lump in her throat, and tears blurring her sight. There would be no fire to-night, had no rosy lamp, no supper, and no princess sitting in the glow, reading or telling stories. No princess. She choked down a sob as she pushed the attic door open, and then she broke into a low cry. The lamp was flushing the room, the fire was blazing, the supper was waiting, and Ram Dass was standing, smiling into a startled face. Mrs. Aib remembered, he said. She told the Saib all. She wished you to know the good fortune which has befallen her. Behold a letter on the tray. She has written. She did not wish that you should go to sleep unhappy. The Saib commands you to come to him to-morrow. You are to be the attendant of Mrs. Aib. To-night I take these things back over the roof. And having said this with a beaming face, he made a little salam, and slipped through the skylight with an agile silentness of movement, which showed Becky how easily he had done it before. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett Read for LibriVox.org by Karen Savage in September 2007 Chapter 19 Anne Never had such joy reigned in the nursery of the large family. Never had they dreamed of such delights as resulted from an intimate acquaintance with the little girl who was not a beggar. The mere fact of her sufferings and adventures made her a priceless possession. Everybody wanted to be told over and over again the things which had happened to her. When one was sitting by a warm fire in a big, glowing room, it was quite delightful to hear how cold it could be in an attic. It must be admitted that the attic was rather delighted in, and that its coldness and bareness quite sank into insignificance when Melchizedek was remembered, and one heard about the sparrows and things one could see if one climbed on the table and stuck one's head and shoulders out of the skylight. Of course, the thing loved best was the story of the banquet and the dream which was true. Sarah told it for the first time the day after she had been found. Several members of the large family came to take tea with her, and as they sat or curled up on the hearth rug, she told the story in her own way, and the Indian gentleman listened and watched her. When she had finished she looked up at him and put her hand on his knee. That is my part, she said. Now won't you tell your part of it, Uncle Tom? He had asked her to call him always Uncle Tom. I don't know your part yet, and it must be beautiful. So he told them how, when he sat alone, ill, dull, and irritable, Ram Dass had tried to distract him by describing the passers-by, and there was one child who passed oftener than anyone else. He had begun to be interested in her, partly perhaps because he was thinking a great deal of a little girl, and partly because Ram Dass had been able to relate the incident of his visit to the attic in Chase of the Monkey. He had described its cheerless look, and the bearing of the child, who seemed as if she was not of the class of those who had treated as drudges and servants. Bit by bit Ram Dass had made discoveries concerning the wretchedness of her life. He had found out how easy a matter it was to climb across the few yards of roof to the skylight, and this fact had been the beginning of all that followed. Sa'ib, he had said one day, I could cross the slates and make the child a fire when she is out on some errand. When she returned, wet and cold, to find it blazing, she would think a magician had done it. The idea had been so fanciful that Mr. Karris with sad face had lighted with a smile, and Ram Dass had been so filled with rapture that he had enlarged upon it, and explained to his master how simple it would be to accomplish numbers of other things. He had shown a childlike pleasure and invention, and the preparations for the carrying out of the plan had filled many a day with interest which would otherwise have dragged wearily. On the night of the frustrated banquet Ram Dass had kept watch, all his packages being in readiness in the attic which was his own, and the person who was to help him had waited with him, as interested as himself in the odd adventure. Ram Dass had been lying flat upon the slates, looking in at the skylight, when the banquet had come to its disastrous conclusion. He had been sure of the profoundness of Sarah's weary sleep, and then, with a dark lantern, he had crept into the room while his companion remained outside and handed the things to him. When Sarah had stirred ever so faintly, Ram Dass had closed the lantern-slide and named flat upon the floor. These and many other exciting things the children found out by asking a thousand questions. I am so glad, Sarah said, I am so glad it was you who were my friend. There were never such friends as these two became. Somehow they seemed to suit each other in a wonderful way. The Indian gentleman had never had a companion he liked quite as much as he liked Sarah. In a month's time he was, as Mr. Carmichael had prophesied he would be, a new man. He was always amused and interested, and he began to find an actual pleasure in the possession of the wealth he had imagined that he loathed the burden of. There were so many charming things to plan for Sarah. There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and it was one of his pleasures to invent things to surprise her. She found beautiful new flowers growing in her room, whimsical little gifts tucked under pillows, and once, as they sat together in the evening, they heard the scratch of a heavy pour on the door, and when Sarah went to find out what it was, there stood a great dog, a splendid Russian borehound, with a grand silver and gold collar bearing an inscription. I am Boris, it read, I serve the Princess Sarah. There was nothing the Indian gentleman loved more than the recollection of the little princess in rags and tatters. The afternoons in which the large family, or erm and garden lotty, gathered to rejoice together were very delightful. But the hours when Sarah and the Indian gentlemen sat alone and read or talked had a special charm of their own. During their passing many interesting things occurred. One evening Mr. Harrisford, looking up from his book, noticed that his companion had not stirred for some time, but sat gazing into the fire. What are you supposing, Sarah? he asked. Sarah looked up with a bright color on her cheek. I was supposing, she said. I was remembering that hungry day and a child I saw. But there were a great many hungry days, said the Indian gentleman, with a rather sad tone in his voice. Which hungry day was it? I forgot you didn't know, said Sarah. It was the day the dream came true. Then she told him the story of the bun shop and the four pence she picked up out of the sloppy mud, and the child who was hungrier than herself. She told it quite simply, and in as few words as possible, but somehow the Indian gentleman found it necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the carpet. And I was supposing a kind of plan, she said, when she had finished. I was thinking I should like to do something. What is it? said Mr. Karris, but in a low tone. You may do anything you like, Princess. I was wondering, rather hesitated, Sarah. You know, you say I have so much money. I was wondering if I could go to see the bun woman and tell her that if, when hungry children, particularly on those dreadful days, come and sit on the steps, or look in at the window, she would just call them in and give them something to eat. She might send the bills to me. Could I do that? You shall do it tomorrow morning, said the Indian gentleman. Thank you, said Sarah. You see, I know what it is to be hungry, and it is very hard when one cannot even pretend it away. Yes, yes, my dear, said the Indian gentleman. Yes, yes, it must be. Try to forget it.  Yes, said Sarah, smiling, and I can give buns and bread to the populace.  The next morning, Miss Minchin, in looking out of her window, saw the things she perhaps least enjoyed seeing. The Indian gentleman's carriage, with its tall horses, drew up before the door of the next house, and its owner and a little figure, warm with soft, rich furs, descended the steps to get into it. The little figure was a familiar one, and reminded Miss Minchin of days in the past. It was followed by another as familiar, the sight of which she found very irritating. It was Becky, who, in the character of delighted attendant, always accompanied her young mistress to the carriage, carrying wraps and belongings. Already Becky had a pink, round face. A little later the carriage drew up before the door of the baker's shop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, just as the bun woman was putting a tray of smoking hot buns into the window. When Sarah entered the shop, the woman turned and looked at her, and, leaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked at Sarah very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up. I'm sure that I remember you, Miss, she said, and yet— Yes, said Sarah, once you gave me six buns for four pence, and— And you gave five of them to a beggar child! The woman broke in on her. I've always remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. She turned round to the Indian gentleman and spoke her next words to him. I beg your pardon, sir, but there's not many young people that notice a hungry face in that way, and I've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, Miss, to Sarah, but you look rosier and, well, better than you did that—that. I am better, thank you, said Sarah, and I am much happier, and I have come to ask you to do something for me. Me, Miss, exclaimed the bun woman, smiling cheerfully, why bless you, yes, Miss, what can I do? And then Sarah, leaning on the counter, made her little proposal concerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the buns. The woman watched her and listened with an astonished face. Why bless me, she said again, when she had heard it all. It'll be a pleasure to me to do it. I'm a working woman myself, and cannot afford to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on every side, but if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given away many a bit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along a thinking of you, and how wet and cold you was, and how hungry you looked, and yet you gave away your hot buns as if you were a princess. The Indian gentleman smiled involuntarily at this, and Sarah smiled a little too, remembering what she had said to herself when she put the buns down on the ravenous child's ragged lap. She looked so hungry, she said. She was even hungry than I was. She was starving, said the woman. Many's the time she's told me of its sins. How she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a terror at her poor young inscience. Oh, have you seen her since then? exclaimed Sarah. Do you know where she is? Yes, I do, answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly than ever, while she's in that there-back room, Miss, and has been for a month. And a decent, well-meaning girl she's going to turn out, and such a help to be in the shop, in the kitchen, as you'd scarce believe no one how she's lived. She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke, and the next minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter, and actually it was the beggar child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking as if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she had a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage, and the wild look had gone from her eyes. She knew Sarah in an instant, and stood and looked at her as if she could never look enough. You see, said the woman, I told her to come when she was hungry, and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do, and I found she was willing, and somehow I got to like her, and the end of it was I've given her a place and a home, and she helps me, and behaves well, and is as thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne. She has no other. The children stood and looked at each other for a few minutes, and then Sarah took her hand out of her muff, and held it out across the counter, and Anne took it, and they looked straight into each other's eyes. I am so glad, Sarah said, and I've just thought of something. Perhaps Mrs. Brown will let you be the one to give the buns and bread to the children. Perhaps you would like to do it, because you know what it is to be hungry too. Yes, Miss, said the girl. And somehow Sarah felt as if she understood her, though she said so little and only stood still and looked and looked after her as she went out of the shop with the Indian gentleman, and they got into the carriage and drove away. End of Chapter Nineteen. End of A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson-Bernet.


Hey how you doing? It's Craig back to here and in this video I'm going to show you some examples of the Panasonic 15 millimeter f1.7 shooting 4k video. All right let's get started. I shot this video on the Bay of Fundy on the Nova Scotia side with the Panasonic 15 millimeter f1.7. Now if you were to compare this lens to a full frame camera it's around 30 millimeters that's kind of the viewpoint you get with it and it's a very small lightweight prime lens and I really was looking for something that I could shoot on the Zintec crane something that was light and it really works really well with the Zintec crane. Now I was also using a B plus W three stop neutral density filter and the reason for that is if you're shooting at say something like 30 frames per second and it's a bright sunny day you'll have to shoot at f11 or f16 so the three stop filter allows you to shoot around the f5.6 f8 range and it really depends on the brightness of the day how that works. Now let's talk about sharpness. Now I compared this lens to some of my Canon L series lenses and I found it to be equally as sharp and I was really surprised by that because a lot of people say micro four thirds lenses aren't as good as full frame lenses and they're not as sharp and the colors not that great and I didn't find that to be true in my comparisons. I'll probably shoot another video about that but I found it to be equally as sharp. I found the colors to be really rich and you can see from this video it's great for shooting 4k so if you own the Panasonic GH5 and you're looking for a wide-angle prime I know a lot of people use adapters and their Canon lenses. I really wanted something that had a small form factor to go with the camera and also for the Zintec crane so I think the 15 millimeter is really a good option I think it's worth a look. Now before you go make sure you subscribe to my YouTube channel hit that like button. Also share this on the web with your fellow photographers and if you have any questions or comments you could leave them in the comment section below. So thanks for watching this video. Let's cry back to again make sure you subscribe to my YouTube channel. Share this on the web. Like I said leave a comment and hit that like button. Thanks again for watching and I'll see you in the next video.


Epicaparomics is a new approach for identifying and studying protein-protein interactions, PPI's. This technique uses chemical binders called epicaparomes to probe PPI's in native cells and tissues. By taking advantage of this technology, researchers can gain a better understanding of how PPI's are affected in diseases such as cancer. Epicaparomics has been used to identify PPI dysfunction in cancer cells, providing valuable insight into the underlying mechanisms of cancer cell growth. Additionally, epicaparomics has been shown to be effective in restoring normal PPI function in cancer cells, suggesting potential applications for targeted therapies. This article was authored by Anna Rodina, Chaoshu, Chanda S. Dickwall, and others.