A Litte Princess

for weeks after it occurred. In one of his letters Captain Crewe told a most interesting story. A friend who had been at school with him when he was a boy had

is true that any other business scheme, however magnificent, would have had but small attraction for her or for the schoolroom; but "diamond mines" sounded so like the Arabian Nights that no one could be indifferent. Sara thought them enchanting, and painted pictures, for Ermengarde and Lottie, of labyrinthine passages in the bowels of

d. "And it is not a big one, either. If there were mines ful

rich that she will be rid

without being rich

ou hate her,

nia. "But I don't believe

ere," said Jessie. "Lavinia," with a new

don't care if it's something mo

all the time--even in school. She says it makes her learn her lessons bette

said Lavinia. "An

Jessie gi

o do with what you THINK of, and what you DO>." "I suppose she thinks she could be a pri

and a great many secrets changed hands, particularly if the younger pupils behaved themselves well, and did not squabble or run about noisily, which it must be confessed they usually did. When they made an uproar the older girls usually interfered with scolding and shakes. T

sper. "If she's so fond of her, why doesn't she keep her in her o

rself up in the window-seat, opened a book, and began to read. It was a book about the French Revolution, and she was soon lost in a harrowing picture of the prisoners in the Bastille-- men who had spent so many years i

so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who are fond of books k

de once in confidence. "And as if I want to hit back. I have to r

she laid her book on the window-seat and

making a noise, had ended by falling down and hurting her fat knee. She was screaming and dancing up

ry-baby! Stop this minu

. I'm not!" wailed Lot

will hear her," cried Jessie. "Lot

d she looked down at the fat knee, and, seei

om and, kneeling down,

said. "Now, Lottie

as a cry-baby

t spoke in the stea

You PROMISED>." Lottle remembered that she had

she proclaimed. {"I ha

you forgotten? Don't you know that Sara is y

up to her with

at with me," Sara went on, "an

tie. "Will you--tell me-

avinia. "Nasty, little spoiled

e book about the Bastille, and she had had to recall several things rapidly when she realized that s

restraining herself. "At least I both want to slap you--and I should LIKE to slap you--but

avinia's o

, I believe. At least one of us is. The school ought to be

cess was very near to her heart, and she was shy and sensitive about it. She had meant it to be rather a secret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all the school. She felt the blood rush up into her face and tingle in her ear

end I am a princess. I pretend I am a princ

Sara. The reason for this was that, somehow, the rest always seemed to be vaguely in sympathy with her opponent. She saw now that they were pricking up their ear

nvent one remark, an

pe, when you ascend the th

word, but stood quite still, and stared at her ste

ave her the name among themselves as a term of affection. No one called her "princess" instead of "Sara," but her adorers were much pleased with the picturesqueness and

a knew very little about it. They were aware that Sara was "kind" to the scullery maid, but they knew nothing of certain delightful moments snatched perilously when, the upstairs rooms being set in order with lightning rapidity, Sara's sitting room was reached, a

" she said once; "'cos if I leaves c

ara, in horror. "A

stly is rats an' mice in attics. You gets used to the noise they makes scuttlin

" sai

cky. "You have to, miss, if you're born a scull

e friends with a rat in time, but I don't believe

d under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with a band of tape. The search for and discovery of satisfying things to eat which could be packed into small compass, added a new interest to Sara's existence. When she drove or wal

in'ness that's best. Sponge cake's a 'evenly thing, but it melts awa

t would be good if they stayed always, b

-and so were rolls and Bologna sausage. In time, Becky began to lose her

ly, merry words that put heart into one; and if there was time for more, then there was an installment of a story to be told, or some other thing one remembered afterward and sometimes lay awake in one's bed in the attic to think over. Sara--who was only doing what she unconsciously liked better than anything else, Nature having made her for a giver--had not the least idea what she meant

rd-driven life. Sara made her laugh, and laughed with her; and, though ne

ch did not seem to be written in such boyish high spirits as usual. He was not very

and all this seems so enormous. Perhaps, if I was not feverish I should not be awake, tossing about, one half of the night and spend the other half i

all her his "little missus" because

ed in Paris, and her wardrobe was to be, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfection. When she had rep

about `A Last Doll' would be very nice. But I cannot write poetry. I have tried, and it made me laugh. It did not sound like Watts or Coleridge or Shake{}speare at all. No one could ever take Emily'

ndia. The table before him was heaped with papers and letters which were alarming h

s may right itself and leave me free to run home and see her. What wouldn't I

was to be a glittering feast spread in Miss Minchin's sacred room. When the day arrived the whole house was in a whirl of excitement. How the morning passed nobody quite knew, because there seemed such

. She knew it was a present, and she thought she could guess whom it came from. She opened it quite tenderly. It was a square pinc

er heart. "What pains she has taken! I l

er side of the pincushion was secured a card, bear

ed it ove

e said to herself

rd the door being cautiously pushed

n her face, and she shuffled forward an

Miss Sara?" she

"You darling Becky, yo

yful sniff, and her eyes loo

diamond pins in. _I_ tried to when I was makin' it. The card, miss," rather doubtfully; "'t warn't wrong of me to pick it up out o' the dust-bin, was it? Mis

could not have told herself or anyone

ith a queer little laugh, "I

r, miss, kindly; it ain't good enough