A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett Page A

was left to look back upon losses.
    "The Princess Sara, indeed!" she said. "The child has been
pampered as if she were a QUEEN." She was sweeping angrily past
the corner table as she said it, and the next moment she started
at the sound of a loud, sobbing sniff which issued from under the
cover.
    "What is that!" she exclaimed angrily. The loud, sobbing sniff
was heard again, and she stooped and raised the hanging folds of
the table cover.
    "How DARE you!" she cried out. "How dare you! Come out
immediately!"
    It was poor Becky who crawled out, and her cap was knocked on
one side, and her face was red with repressed crying.
    "If you please, 'm—it's me, mum," she explained. "I know I
hadn't ought to. But I was lookin' at the doll, mum—an' I was
frightened when you come in—an' slipped under the table."
    "You have been there all the time, listening," said Miss
Minchin.
    "No, mum," Becky protested, bobbing curtsies. "Not listenin'—I
thought I could slip out without your noticin', but I couldn't
an' I had to stay. But I didn't listen, mum—I wouldn't for
nothin'. But I couldn't help hearin'."
    Suddenly it seemed almost as if she lost all fear of the awful
lady before her. She burst into fresh tears.
    "Oh, please, 'm," she said; "I dare say you'll give me warnin,
mum—but I'm so sorry for poor Miss Sara—I'm so sorry!"
    "Leave the room!" ordered Miss Minchin.
    Becky curtsied again, the tears openly streaming down her
cheeks.
    "Yes, 'm; I will, 'm," she said, trembling; "but oh, I just
wanted to arst you: Miss Sara—she's been such a rich young
lady, an' she's been waited on, 'and and foot; an' what will she
do now, mum, without no maid? If—if, oh please, would you let
me wait on her after I've done my pots an' kettles? I'd do 'em
that quick—if you'd let me wait on her now she's poor. Oh,"
breaking out afresh, "poor little Miss Sara, mum—that was called
a princess."
    Somehow, she made Miss Minchin feel more angry than ever. That
the very scullery maid should range herself on the side of this
child—whom she realized more fully than ever that she had never
liked—was too much. She actually stamped her foot.
    "No—certainly not," she said. "She will wait on herself, and on
other people, too. Leave the room this instant, or you'll leave
your place."
    Becky threw her apron over her head and fled. She ran out of
the room and down the steps into the scullery, and there she sat
down among her pots and kettles, and wept as if her heart would
break.
    "It's exactly like the ones in the stories," she wailed. "Them
pore princess ones that was drove into the world."
    Miss Minchin had never looked quite so still and hard as she did
when Sara came to her, a few hours later, in response to a
message she had sent her.
    Even by that time it seemed to Sara as if the birthday party had
either been a dream or a thing which had happened years ago, and
had happened in the life of quite another little girl.
    Every sign of the festivities had been swept away; the holly had
been removed from the schoolroom walls, and the forms and desks
put back into their places. Miss Minchin's sitting room looked
as it always did—all traces of the feast were gone, and Miss
Minchin had resumed her usual dress. The pupils had been
ordered to lay aside their party frocks; and this having been
done, they had returned to the schoolroom and huddled together in
groups, whispering and talking excitedly.
    "Tell Sara to come to my room," Miss Minchin had said to her
sister. "And explain to her clearly that I will have no crying
or unpleasant scenes."
    "Sister," replied Miss Amelia, "she is the strangest child I ever
saw. She has actually made no fuss at all. You remember she
made none when Captain Crewe went back to India. When I told her
what had happened, she just stood quite still and looked at me
without making a sound. Her eyes seemed to get bigger and
bigger, and she went quite pale. When I had finished, she still
stood staring for a few seconds, and then