1. Sara

A Little Princess

by Francis Hodgson Burnett

Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick
and heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and
the shop windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd- looking
little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly
through the big thoroughfares.

She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her
father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at
the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her
big eyes.

She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a
look on her small face. It would have been an old look for a child
of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however,
that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not
herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about
grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she
had lived a long, long time.

At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made
from Bombay with her father, Captain Crewe. She was thinking of the
big ship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the
children playing about on the hot deck, and of some young officers'
wives who used to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the
things she said.

Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that
at one time one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the
middle of the ocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through
strange streets where the day was as dark as the night. She found
this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.

"Papa," she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was
almost a whisper, "papa."

"What is it, darling?" Captain Crewe answered, holding her
closer and looking down into her face. "What is Sara thinking
of?"

"Is this the place?" Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to
him. "Is it, papa?"

"Yes, little Sara, it is. We have reached it at last." And
though she was only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad when
he said it.

It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her
mind for "the place," as she always called it. Her mother had died
when she was born, so she had never known or missed her. Her young,
handsome, rich, petting father seemed to be the only relation she had
in the world. They had always played together and been fond of each
other. She only knew he was rich because she had heard people say so
when they thought she was not listening, and she had also heard them
say that when she grew up she would be rich, too. She did not know
all that being rich meant. She had always lived in a beautiful
bungalow, and had been used to seeing many servants who made salaams
to her and called her "Missee Sahib," and gave her her own way in
everything. She had had toys and pets and an ayah who worshipped
her, and she had gradually learned that people who were rich had
these things. That, however, was all she knew about it.

During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that
thing was "the place" she was to be taken to some day. The climate
of India was very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were
sent away from it--generally to England and to school. She had seen
other children go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk
about the letters they received from them. She had known that she
would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her father's
stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had
been troubled by the thought that he could not stay with her.

"Couldn't you go to that place with me, papa?" she had asked
when she was five years old. "Couldn't you go to school, too? I
would help you with your lessons."

"But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little
Sara," he had always said. "You will go to a nice house where there
will be a lot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will
send you plenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem
scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to come
back and take care of papa."

She had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her
father; to ride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he
had dinner parties; to talk to him and read his books--that would be
what she would like most in the world, and if one must go away to
"the place" in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go.
She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had
plenty of books she could console herself. She liked books more than
anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of
beautiful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she had told
them to her father, and he had liked them as much as she did.

"Well, papa," she said softly, "if we are here I suppose we must
be resigned."

He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. He was
really not at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that
a secret. His quaint little Sara had been a great companion to him,
and he felt he should be a lonely fellow when, on his return to
India, he went into his bungalow knowing he need not expect to see
the small figure in its white frock come forward to meet him. So he
held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big,
dull square in which stood the house which was their destination.

It was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others in
its row, but that on the front door there shone a brass plate on
which was engraved in black letters:

Miss Minchin,

Select Seminary for Young Ladies.

"Here we are, Sara," said Captain Crewe, making his voice sound
as cheerful as possible. Then he lifted her out of the cab and they
mounted the steps and rang the bell. Sara often thought afterward
that the house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin. It was
respectable and well furnished, but everything in it was ugly; and
the very armchairs seemed to have hard bones in them. In the hall
everything was hard and polished--even the red cheeks of the moon
face on the tall clock in the corner had a severe varnished look. The
drawing room into which they were ushered was covered by a carpet
with a square pattern upon it, the chairs were square, and a heavy
marble timepiece stood upon the heavy marble mantel.

As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Sara cast
one of her quick looks about her.

"I don't like it, papa," she said. "But then I dare say
soldiers-- even brave ones--don't really like going into battle."

Captain Crewe laughed outright at this. He was young and full
of fun, and he never tired of hearing Sara's queer speeches.

"Oh, little Sara," he said. "What shall I do when I have no one
to say solemn things to me? No one else is as solemn as you are."

"But why do solemn things make you laugh so?" inquired Sara.

"Because you are such fun when you say them," he answered,
laughing still more. And then suddenly he swept her into his arms
and kissed her very hard, stopping laughing all at once and looking
almost as if tears had come into his eyes.

It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room. She was
very like her house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and
ugly. She had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy
smile. It spread itself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and
Captain Crewe. She had heard a great many desirable things of the
young soldier from the lady who had recommended her school to him.
Among other things, she had heard that he was a rich father who was
willing to spend a great deal of money on his little daughter.

"It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful
and promising child, Captain Crewe," she said, taking Sara's hand and
stroking it. "Lady Meredith has told me of her unusual cleverness. A
clever child is a great treasure in an establishment like mine."

Sara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchin's
face. She was thinking something odd, as usual.

"Why does she say I am a beautiful child?" she was thinking. "I
am not beautiful at all. Colonel Grange's little girl, Isobel, is
beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long hair
the color of gold. I have short black hair and green eyes; besides
which, I am a thin child and not fair in the least. I am one of the
ugliest children I ever saw. She is beginning by telling a
story."

She was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly child.
She was not in the least like Isobel Grange, who had been the beauty
of the regiment, but she had an odd charm of her own. She was a
slim, supple creature, rather tall for her age, and had an intense,
attractive little face. Her hair was heavy and quite black and only
curled at the tips; her eyes were greenish gray, it is true, but they
were big, wonderful eyes with long, black lashes, and though she
herself did not like the color of them, many other people did. Still
she was very firm in her belief that she was an ugly little girl, and
she was not at all elated by Miss Minchin's flattery.

"I should be telling a story if I said she was beautiful," she
thought; "and I should know I was telling a story. I believe I am as
ugly as she is--in my way. What did she say that for?"

After she had known Miss Minchin longer she learned why she had
said it. She discovered that she said the same thing to each papa
and mamma who brought a child to her school.

Sara stood near her father and listened while he and Miss
Minchin talked. She had been brought to the seminary because Lady
Meredith's two little girls had been educated there, and Captain
Crewe had a great respect for Lady Meredith's experience. Sara was to
be what was known as "a parlor boarder," and she was to enjoy even
greater privileges than parlor boarders usually did. She was to have
a pretty bedroom and sitting room of her own; she was to have a pony
and a carriage, and a maid to take the place of the ayah who had been
her nurse in India.

"I am not in the least anxious about her education," Captain
Crewe said, with his gay laugh, as he held Sara's hand and patted it.
"The difficulty will be to keep her from learning too fast and too
much. She is always sitting with her little nose burrowing into
books. She doesn't read them, Miss Minchin; she gobbles them up as
if she were a little wolf instead of a little girl. She is always
starving for new books to gobble, and she wants grown-up
books--great, big, fat ones--French and German as well as
English--history and biography and poets, and all sorts of things.
Drag her away from her books when she reads too much. Make her ride
her pony in the Row or go out and buy a new doll. She ought to play
more with dolls."

"Papa," said Sara, "you see, if I went out and bought a new doll
every few days I should have more than I could be fond of. Dolls
ought to be intimate friends. Emily is going to be my intimate
friend."

Captain Crewe looked at Miss Minchin and Miss Minchin looked at
Captain Crewe.

"Who is Emily?" she inquired.

"Tell her, Sara," Captain Crewe said, smiling.

Sara's green-gray eyes looked very solemn and quite soft as she
answered.

"She is a doll I haven't got yet," she said. "She is a doll
papa is going to buy for me. We are going out together to find her.
I have called her Emily. She is going to be my friend when papa is
gone. I want her to talk to about him."

Miss Minchin's large, fishy smile became very flattering
indeed.

"What an original child!" she said. "What a darling little
creature!"

"Yes," said Captain Crewe, drawing Sara close. "She is a
darling little creature. Take great care of her for me, Miss
Minchin."

Sara stayed with her father at his hotel for several days; in
fact, she remained with him until he sailed away again to India. They
went out and visited many big shops together, and bought a great many
things. They bought, indeed, a great many more things than Sara
needed; but Captain Crewe was a rash, innocent young man and wanted
his little girl to have everything she admired and everything he
admired himself, so between them they collected a wardrobe much too
grand for a child of seven. There were velvet dresses trimmed with
costly furs, and lace dresses, and embroidered ones, and hats with
great, soft ostrich feathers, and ermine coats and muffs, and boxes
of tiny gloves and handkerchiefs and silk stockings in such abundant
supplies that the polite young women behind the counters whispered to
each other that the odd little girl with the big, solemn eyes must be
at least some foreign princess--perhaps the little daughter of an
Indian rajah.

And at last they found Emily, but they went to a number of toy
shops and looked at a great many dolls before they discovered her.

"I want her to look as if she wasn't a doll really," Sara said.
"I want her to look as if she listens when I talk to her. The trouble
with dolls, papa"--and she put her head on one side and reflected as
she said it--"the trouble with dolls is that they never seem to
hear." So they looked at big ones and little ones-- at dolls with
black eyes and dolls with blue--at dolls with brown curls and dolls
with golden braids, dolls dressed and dolls undressed.

"You see," Sara said when they were examining one who had no
clothes. "If, when I find her, she has no frocks, we can take her to
a dressmaker and have her things made to fit. They will fit better
if they are tried on."

After a number of disappointments they decided to walk and look
in at the shop windows and let the cab follow them. They had passed
two or three places without even going in, when, as they were
approaching a shop which was really not a very large one, Sara
suddenly started and clutched her father's arm.

"Oh, papa!" she cried. "There is Emily!"

A flush had risen to her face and there was an expression in her
green-gray eyes as if she had just recognized someone she was
intimate with and fond of.

"She is actually waiting there for us!" she said. "Let us go in
to her."

"Dear me," said Captain Crewe, "I feel as if we ought to have
someone to introduce us."

"You must introduce me and I will introduce you," said Sara.
"But I knew her the minute I saw her--so perhaps she knew me,
too."

Perhaps she had known her. She had certainly a very intelligent
expression in her eyes when Sara took her in her arms. She was a
large doll, but not too large to carry about easily; she had
naturally curling golden-brown hair, which hung like a mantle about
her, and her eyes were a deep, clear, gray-blue, with soft, thick
eyelashes which were real eyelashes and not mere painted lines.

"Of course," said Sara, looking into her face as she held her on
her knee, "of course papa, this is Emily."

So Emily was bought and actually taken to a children's
outfitter's shop and measured for a wardrobe as grand as Sara's own.
She had lace frocks, too, and velvet and muslin ones, and hats and
coats and beautiful lace-trimmed underclothes, and gloves and
handkerchiefs and furs.

"I should like her always to look as if she was a child with a
good mother," said Sara. "I'm her mother, though I am going to make
a companion of her."

Captain Crewe would really have enjoyed the shopping
tremendously, but that a sad thought kept tugging at his heart. This
all meant that he was going to be separated from his beloved, quaint
little comrade.

He got out of his bed in the middle of that night and went and
stood looking down at Sara, who lay asleep with Emily in her arms.
Her black hair was spread out on the pillow and Emily's golden-brown
hair mingled with it, both of them had lace-ruffled nightgowns, and
both had long eyelashes which lay and curled up on their cheeks.
Emily looked so like a real child that Captain Crewe felt glad she
was there. He drew a big sigh and pulled his mustache with a boyish
expression.

"Heigh-ho, little Sara!" he said to himself "I don't believe you
know how much your daddy will miss you."

The next day he took her to Miss Minchin's and left her there.
He was to sail away the next morning. He explained to Miss Minchin
that his solicitors, Messrs. Barrow & Skipworth, had charge of his
affairs in England and would give her any advice she wanted, and that
they would pay the bills she sent in for Sara's expenses. He would
write to Sara twice a week, and she was to be given every pleasure
she asked for.

"She is a sensible little thing, and she never wants anything it
isn't safe to give her," he said.

Then he went with Sara into her little sitting room and they
bade each other good-by. Sara sat on his knee and held the lapels of
his coat in her small hands, and looked long and hard at his face.

"Are you learning me by heart, little Sara?" he said, stroking
her hair.

"No," she answered. "I know you by heart. You are inside my
heart." And they put their arms round each other and kissed as if
they would never let each other go.

When the cab drove away from the door, Sara was sitting on the
floor of her sitting room, with her hands under her chin and her eyes
following it until it had turned the corner of the square. Emily was
sitting by her, and she looked after it, too. When Miss Minchin sent
her sister, Miss Amelia, to see what the child was doing, she found
she could not open the door.

"I have locked it," said a queer, polite little voice from
inside. "I want to be quite by myself, if you please."

Miss Amelia was fat and dumpy, and stood very much in awe of her
sister. She was really the better-natured person of the two, but she
never disobeyed Miss Minchin. She went downstairs again, looking
almost alarmed.

"I never saw such a funny, old-fashioned child, sister," she
said. "She has locked herself in, and she is not making the least
particle of noise."

"It is much better than if she kicked and screamed, as some of
them do," Miss Minchin answered. "I expected that a child as much
spoiled as she is would set the whole house in an uproar. If ever a
child was given her own way in everything, she is."

"I've been opening her trunks and putting her things away," said
Miss Amelia. "I never saw anything like them--sable and ermine on
her coats, and real Valenciennes lace on her underclothing. You have
seen some of her clothes. What do you think of them?"

"I think they are perfectly ridiculous," replied Miss Minchin,
sharply; "but they will look very well at the head of the line when
we take the schoolchildren to church on Sunday. She has been provided
for as if she were a little princess."

And upstairs in the locked room Sara and Emily sat on the floor
and stared at the corner round which the cab had disappeared, while
Captain Crewe looked backward, waving and kissing his hand as if he
could not bear to stop.