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- [00:02]
A
Hello and welcome to the Storytime for Grown Ups Christmas Spectacular. I'm Faith Moore and for the months of November and December, we'll be reading A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Each episode I'll read one chapter from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So gather your family together, brew a pot of tea or a mug of hot chocolate, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time.
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Hi, everyone. Welcome back. Gosh, we really are getting close to the end of this book. I can't believe it. I don't know how it happened. I know I keep saying this. The time is just flying by though, and we've got today and then two more episodes of the book and then one more episode to wrap things up for our conclusion on December 22nd. And I think you can kind of start to feel now that the book is in the final stretch. There are these elements that are starting to kind of pop up so. So that we can see on the horizon maybe what is coming at the end. It's not quite clear exactly what it's going to be, but there are these little inklings coming and that's really fun and exciting. So I'm really excited to be reading this book with you. This is actually kind of a long chapter that we're going to be reading today. It's just one chapter, it's chapter 15, but it's a bit long. So I'm going to try to keep things a little bit brief at the beginning. But I do have some reminders and I do have some great questions that to discuss. So we're going to do all of that. But that's why the episode is a little longer. You may have noticed when you opened up your podcast player, hopefully that's a good thing. Hopefully you're like, yay, more story time for grownups and not like, oh no, it's really long. So let's get right to it. So the first thing to announce today is the winner of our current prize drawing. So for the past two weeks or so, we have had a prize drawing open for a membership in our online community, the drawing room, at the Landed gentry level, which is currently our highest membership level. It entitles you to be a part of the drawing room and chat with your friends over there and all the various channels and to join us for our monthly voice chats, which are called Tea Time. So the winner is going to get that membership. So today I'M going to announce the winner and then on Monday, so Monday, December 15th, I will let you know what the final product prize is going to be. We're really getting down to the end of it here, you guys. It's amazing. So I will let you know what the last prize is going to be and then I will announce the winner of that at the end of the Christmas Spectacular. So today though, I would like to announce that the winner of the Landed Gentry membership is Juanita Evans. So if you are Juanita Evans, please go to my website, faith k.moore.com. click on Contact or you can use the link in the show notes to contact me. Get in touch, let me know that you are Juanita Evans and that you heard your name announced as the winner. And then I will send you the information that you need to join the drawing room at the Landage entry level for free for life. So congratulations, Juanita Evans. Please get in touch to claim your prize. Okay, the other things are just reminders. Don't forget to get me your recordings. If you would like to join in with our Victorian Christmas Sing along, which is our last Victorian Christmas event of this Christmas Spectacular. Those recordings are due by December 18th, so if you're not sure what I'm talking about or if you don't know how to do it, just find the link in the show notes. It's clearly labeled. Click on that and then there are directions for how to join in. But the idea is we are going to sing together as if we were all gathered around the piano in our lovely Victorian house to sing some Christmas carols together, as people did back then, as I wish they did now. Maybe you do sometime and that's lovely, I hope you do. But we can together through the magic of the Internet and mixing things together on audio recording devices. So just go over there. And again, don't worry, if you are not comfortable singing, your. Your voice is not going to be heard specifically. It's going to join in with a group of people singing. You don't even have to be able to carry a tune. We're not going for, like Christmas concert, we're going for friends gathered around singing together. So it doesn't even matter if you don't know how to carry a tune or you just feel weird about your voice, that is okay. Please join us. It's a wonderful way for us to gather together as a community and make music together, even though we're not really in the same place. So I hope you will join in with that and get your recordings to me. By December 18th. And I can't wait to share that with you on December 22nd in the last episode. Other than that, don't forget that you can still enter the drawing. I just announced the winner, but a new drawing will be announced on Monday. And the way to enter these drawings is to buy a copy of my novel, which is called Christmas Carol. That's Carol with a K. There's a link in the show notes to find the book, and once you've done that, you go back into the show notes and click the link that's clearly labeled there to enter the drawings. The directions are all there. You can also get a signed bookplate. You don't have to win that. You just it buy a book, get a book plate. It's like a sticker. I write a little message to you or whoever you want to give the book to, and I sign it. And then you can stick that into the front of the book and turn the book into a signed copy, which is really fun just to keep it for yourself or to give it as a gift. So please check out my book and then check out the link to find out how to get all the things that I would love to give you if you buy the book. So that's it. Other than that, just make sure that you are subscribed. The trailer for January's book drops tomorrow, December 12, Friday. So be subscribed so that you don't miss it. I cannot wait to hear your reactions to finding out what book we'll be reading in January. I'm really excited about it and I want to know what you think. So please check that out and get in touch with me. Like the show, follow it, whatever it's called on the podcast player that you use. Please do all of that. Please give it a five star rating if you haven't already. And please write a positive review if you have a couple of extra seconds. And more than anything else, please, please tell a friend, tell a friend about the show, because first of all, that helps the show to grow and it helps more people to find it. But also then you'll have a friend who listens to this show and isn't that wonderful? Somebody that you can talk to in real life about these books. And that's really awesome. So scroll into the show notes, check out the links that are there. You might find something that you like and spread the word. Okay, so last time we read two chapters, we read chapter 13 and chapter 14. And today, as I say, we're reading one chapter, a long chapter, which is chapter four. 15. So first let's review what we read last time. Then we'll talk for a bit and then we'll get into this chapter. So here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, it's now winter, and Sarah is so cold and miserable. And every day she's sent out into the slush and the mud, and Ms. Minchin punishes her by making her skip meals. And she's so hungry. One day as she's out on one of these errands, she thinks how wonderful it would be if she found a sixpence on the ground and could take it to a baker shop and buy some buns. And moment later, she finds a coin on the ground and she discovers she is right across the street from a baker shop. So she rushes over, but on the doorstep of the shop, she finds a little beggar girl who is worse off than she is. She's so hungry. Zara is so hungry, but she knows what she has to do. So she goes in and she asks the baker woman if the coin is hers. The baker is impressed with this and says, no, it's not. Sarah asks for four buns and the woman gives her six. Sara takes them outside and gives five of them to the beggar, who is beside herself with joy. When she leaves, the baker realizes what Sara has done and spurred on by Sarah's good deed, she asks the beggar girl to come in and get warm by the fire. And she tells her she can always come in if she is hungry. Sarah goes home and tries to savor the one bun that she kept for herself. On the way, she sees the father of the large family going on a journey to Moscow to look for the lost girl. And Sara wonders who this girl is to not knowing that it's actually her. While all this is happening, Ram Dass is in sara's room with Mr. Carrisford's secretary, and it seems like they're making arrangements to help Sara in some way. It turns out that Ram Dass has been watching Sara and has come to love her. And he told Mr. Carrisford about her, who wants to help. So we don't know exactly what they're going to do, but there's some kind of plan going on. Okay, I'm going to read two comments today. The first one comes from Kathy Kinney. Kathy says, I loved how the bakery owner noticed the beggar girl and was kind to her only after Sara had given the girl most of the bread. It's only because Sara treated the beggar as a human being that the bakery owner actually saw the beggar and treated her as a human being. Also, if Sara hadn't sacrificed most of the bread to the beggar, it's likely that the bakery owner wouldn't have given the beggar any attention or notice at all. Sara's kindness had a pay it forward effect and she didn't even realize it. The beggar now knows she can go to the bakery when she's hungry, and that's because of Sara. And the other one comes from Pam Shroud. Pam says it appears that people who admire what they see in Sara and what she does out of kindness and strength of character are building up around her. In addition, the friend of her father wants to do right by her. Good things appear to be on the way. Looking forward to see how this all resolves. Okay, so confession. Okay, this chapter, chapter 13, where Sara gives the bread to the beggar girl, it always makes me cry. Like, not just like tearing up a little or whatever. Like, put the book down, head in my hands, ugly cry. Many of you have written in throughout the course of this book to ask how I read it aloud without sobbing. And the answer is, I don't. I have to do something. Several takes, and even so, if you go back and listen to chapter 13, you probably can hear my voice, like, trembling a little bit. I even cried when I listened to Monday's episode myself, which I always do just to make sure I didn't make any mistakes or that there aren't any, like, weird loud sounds or anything like that. So I cried even then. There are several parts of this book that make me cry, but this is a major one. And if your emails are anything to go by, I'm getting the sense that I am not alone. Chapter 13 is really moving, and it's because of exactly what Kathy is talking about in her letter. And there's a kind of a lot to it. So I want to sort of hone in on this incident a bit in this intro, because I think that it's important. Okay, so the first thing that I think it's worth taking note of is how Frances Hodgson Burnett really kind of expertly sets this whole thing up. Sara has been going back and forth now between kind of accepting the cold, hard reality of her situation and clinging desperately on to her pretense as a way to try to sort of get through the cold, hard reality of her situation. And at the start of chapter 13, we get a really clear picture of that reality, right? With the descriptions of the awful winter weather and the slush and the rain and the mud and everything. And we're told that Sarah is out in the frame, freezing cold, getting wet up to her ankles in mud and all of this. And she's reached a kind of new level of hardship because now she's actually hungry. I mean, she's not literally starving in the sense that she knows that she will be fed again, but she's being punished by having her meals withheld. And so she's freezing wet, overworked, and she's got no fuel for her body to run on. So she's starting to feel sort of shaky and faint. And it's truly awful. I mean, really, it's awful. And we get this sense here that without her ability to pretend, she would just kind of sink into despair. But it's not clear whether the pretending is strong enough to combat how bad things have gotten. It's almost like there's this war between reality and make believe. And if reality wins, then sorrow will succumb to it and give in to despair. But if make believe wins, then sorrow will be able to soldier on and keep going in all of this. And. And in a sense, it's basically Sara's fairytale princess self trying desperately to hang on, trying desperately to keep existing, even as the reality of her little girl self is freezing and hungry and wet and everything. Here is what Sara tells Becky about how she's trying to get through these awful days. Here's what she what you have to do with your mind when your body is miserable is to make it think of something else. Okay, so we in the modern world would call this dissociating, right? Sara is saying that the only way to deal with the fact that your body is in agony is to dissociate from your body and live in your mind. You have to pretend, essentially. You have to pretend so hard that you don't feel the cold or the wet or the hunger anymore. And it's as if now this special power that Sara has had from the very beginning, this way in which her protection pretends are something just slightly more than pretend the way they are pretend, but they also affect real change. This special power has now become a matter of life and death. If she can pretend so hard that she doesn't feel the pain and hunger anymore, then she can keep going. Then she has affected her situation in reality via her ability to pretend. But if she can't, then she's trapped in the real world and she might not be able to prevent bear it. So what before was a sort of delightful pastime right has become a desperate weapon. Okay, here is what we're told. She hurried on, trying to make her mind think of something else. It was really very necessary. Her way of doing it was to pretend and suppose with all the strength that was left in her. But really, this time it was harder than she had ever found it. And once or twice she thought it almost made her more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately. And as the muddy water squelched through her broken shoes and the wind seemed trying to drag her thin jacket from her, she talked to herself as she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move her lips. Okay? And in this moment of absolute desperation, where her ability to pretend is the only thing between her and despair, an almost supernatural thing happens, right? The pretending sort of tips just slightly into the realm of magic because she's walking along imagining finding money on the street, right? And here's what it says. It says, suppose just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot buns, I should find sixpence which belonged to nobody. Suppose if I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eat them all without stopping, right? And just as she's supposing that it actually happens, here's what it she saw something shining in the gutter. It was actually a piece of silver, a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet but still with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it, a fourpenny piece. Okay? And then we're told here's another quote, and then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the shop directly facing her, and it was a baker's shop and a cheerful, stout, motherly woman with rosy cheeks with was putting into the window a tray of delicious newly baked hot buns fresh from the oven. Large, plump, shiny buns with currants in them. Okay? This moment feels to me sort of like the one supernatural event in Jane Eyre, which I won't spoil for you if you haven't read it, if you haven't read it, you can listen with us. Those episodes are still there, but it reminds me of that. Or the one supernatural event in the Woman in White, which is also still there to listen to if you want, if you haven't already. But these kind of unexplainable things in an otherwise realistic world are what I'm thinking of now. It reminds me of that, but only sort of, because this could just be a coincidence. But is it right? Or has Sara's ability to pretend sort of tipped just for this moment, this dire moment? Has it tipped into actual magic? We don't know. Right? The book doesn't tell us, and that's part of the brilliance of it. But it allows Sara to cling on to the pretending as a real force, a real thing that can help her and make her life better and more manageable. And it allows her to lean into her princess ness because it puts her squarely back into the realm of pretend and magic and make believe and everything, which is where she needs to be if she's going to do the very real work of acting like a princess, even when she's really just a cold, hungry, wet little girl. And as Kathy says in her letter, it's the act of princessness that Sara performs, right? In giving the hungry beggar girl the buns which she could have easily eaten herself. It's in this act of fairy tale princess generosity that Sara changes the world again, because without that, the baker woman wouldn't have taken any notice at all of the Becker girl. But with it, she takes such a notice of the beggar girl that it looks like she's actually going to change her life. Because now we're told that the beggar girl can come into the baker shop whenever she's cold and hungry, right? Here's what the baker tells the beggar. It says, when you are hard up for a bit of bread, you can come in here and ask me for it. I'm blessed if I won't give it to you for that young one's sake. Okay? So here again is the power of Sara's pretends working their own sort of magic in the world. And it was because, because Sara was thinking of herself as a princess that this happened, right? If she hadn't been, if she'd let go of the pretending, she never would have been able to give up those buns. Here is what she says. It says, if I'm a princess. When they were poor and driven from their thrones, they always shared with the populace. If they met one poorer or hungrier than themselves, they always shared. Buns are a penny each. If it had been sixpence, I could have eaten six. It won't be enough for either of us, but it will be better than nothing. I mean, that is an act of selflessness that I don't know if I'd be capable of. I don't know about you, but I don't think I could. And I think it's that, that Makes me cry in this chapter, the way that Sara wants so desperately to eat all of those buns, but she sees that the beggar needs them even more than she does, and she gives them away. She sees the beggar girl as a real person, a person deserving of life. And she gives the girl not just the gift of bread, but the gift of being seen. Right? No one else even saw that little girl sitting there. No one else thought of her as even human. But Sara saw her. And she saw her so deeply and so truly that she was willing to give her something that was rightfully her own so that she could live the life that no one else even acknowledged. I mean, that is truly the act of a fairy tale princess. You know, I haven't talked yet about why I think this book is a Christmas book, because I have decided that that will be what I talk about in the conclusion episode. But I think this is a taste of it. This sense of total generosity and love for your fellow beings, even beings that you don't know. Right. That everyone else has completely disregarded. That is a Christmas sentiment, I think. But more on that later. Okay, so now Sara has very firmly grasped on to her superpower, right? Her ability to pretend things that actually change herself and her world, not through magic, but through the way it allows her to see the world and carry herself in all of this. So she's firmly grasped onto this. And as Pam says in her letter, help is on the way. Right. In chapter 14, we got this little sort of teaser about what might be coming for Sara. What? We get ram Dass and Mr. Carrisford's secretary, who seem to be preparing to, like, fix up Sara's room for her while she's asleep. Right. And what's so cool about this is that even though there's no actual magic involved. Right. We're told that while Sara is asleep, Ram Dass will silently creep into the room and add a few sort of comfortable things that will make it more cozy. So even though there won't be actual magic, it's sort of like Sara's ability to change the world through. Through pretend. On steroids. Because we learned last time that Ram Dass has been secretly listening to Sara and has come to love her. And he heard her telling Lottie about how the room could look if it wasn't so bare. And it's this vision that Ram Dass is trying to fulfill. So if he can do it, it'll be to Sara as if her pretend has come true, which is what she's been yearning for and trying for all of this time, right? To make the pretend real. Here's what Ram Dass says. He says if the other bearer passes to me the things through the window, I can do all and she will not stir when she awakens. She will think a magician has been here. Okay? So I don't know about you, but to me, this sounds very much like Sara's fairy godmother or fine, fairy godfather or whatever. It sounds like this person, this character is about to arrive in the form of Ram Dass and Mr. Carrisford, the Indian gentleman. Because that's what this Cinderella story has been missing so far, right? We have Sara, our Cinderella. We have her animal friends, we have her human friends. We have our wicked stepmother in the person of Ms. Minchin. But who is the fairy godmother? Who is the person who is going to transform this princess in rags back into a princess for all the world to see, right? Well, we don't really know yet. But we do have a candidate in ram Dass and Mr. Carrisford, who are trying at least to make magic come true in Sara's life. So now the question is, will they be able to do it? And if they can, what will it mean for Sara? Like, new furniture is nice, but it won't change the fact that she's still Ms. Minchin's little drudge. So how will all of this play out? Well, there is only one way to find out, which is to keep reading. So let's do that. Let's keep reading and find out. But please don't forget to write to me. Faithkmore.com click on Contact. Scroll into the show notes, click the link that's there. I would love to hear your thoughts. I would love to hear from you kids. Please write in too. Just let me know how old you are. And we're really getting down to the end now, so I really do want to hear your thoughts. And please write to me after you listen to the trailer tomorrow because I would love to hear your thoughts if you about that as well. All right, let's get started with chapter 15 of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It's story time.
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Chapter 15, the Magic. When Sarah had passed the house next door, she had seen Ram Dass closing the shutters and caught her glimpse of this room also. It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside, was the thought which crossed her mind. There was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate and the Indian gentleman was sitting before it. His head was resting in his hand, and he looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. Poor man, said Sara. I wonder what you are supposing. And this was what he was supposing at that very moment. Suppose he was thinking. Suppose even if Carmichael traces the people to Moscow, the little girl they took from Madame Pascal's school in Paris is not the one we are in search of. Suppose she proves to be quite a different child. What steps shall I take next? When Sara went into the house, she met Miss Minchin, who had come downstairs to scold the cook. Where have you wasted your time? She demanded. You have been out for hours. It was so wet and muddy, sarah answered. It was hard to walk because my shoes were so bad and slipped about. Make no excuses, said Miss Minchin, and tell no falsehoods. Sorrow went in to the cook. The cook had received a severe lecture and was in a fearful temper as a result. She was only too rejoiced to have someone to vent her rage on. And Sarah was a convenience, as usual. Why didn't you stay out all night? She snapped. Sara laid her purchases on the table. Here are the things, she said. The cook looked them over, grumbling. She was in a very savage humor indeed. May I have something to eat? Sara asked rather faintly. Tea's over and done with, was the answer. Did you expect me to keep it hot for you? Sara stood silent for a second. I had no dinner, she said next, and her voice was quite low. She made it low because she was afraid it would tremble. There's some bread in the pantry, said the cook. That's all you'll get at this time of day. Zara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook was in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat with it. It was always safe and easy to vent her spite on Sara. Really, it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of stairs leading to her attic. She often found them long and steep when she was tired. But tonight it seemed as if she would never reach the top. Several times she was obliged to stop to rest. When she reached the top landing, she was glad to see the glimmer of a light coming from under her door. That meant that Ermengarde had managed to creep up to pay her a visit. There was some comfort in that. It was better than to go into the room alone and find it empty and desolate. The mere presence of plump, comfortable Ermengarde, wrapped in her red shawl, would warm it a little. Yes, there Ermengarde was when she opened the door. She was sitting in the middle of the bed with her feet tucked safely under her. She had never become intimate with Melchizedek and his family, though they rather fascinated her. When she found herself alone in the attic, she always preferred to sit on the bed until Sara arrived. She had, in fact, on this occasion had time to become rather nervous because Melchisedec had appeared and sniffed about a good deal and once had made her utter a repressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs, and while he looked at her, sniffing pointedly in her direction. Oh, Sara, she cried out. I am glad you have come. Melki would sniff about so I tried to coax him to go back, but he wouldn't for such a long time. I like him, you know, but it does frighten me when he sniffs right at me. Do you think he ever would jump? No, answered Zara. Ermengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her. You do look tired, Zara, she said. You are quite pale.
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I am tired, said Sarah, dropping onto the lopsided footstool. Oh, there's Melchisedec, poor thing. He's come to ask for his supper. Melchizedek had come out of his hole as if he had been listening for her footstep. Sara was quite sure he knew it. He came forward with an affectionate, expectant expression as Sarah put her hand in her pocket and turned it inside out, shaking her head. I'm very sorry, she said. I haven't one crumb left. Go home, Melchizedek, and tell your wife there was nothing in my pocket. I'm afraid I forgot because the cook and Ms. Minchin were so cross. Melchizedek seemed to understand. He shuffled resignedly, if not contentedly, back to his home. I did not expect to see you tonight, Ermie, sara said. Ermengarde hugged herself in the red shawl. Ms. Amelia has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt, she explained. No one else ever comes and looks into the bedrooms after we are in bed. I could stay here till morning if I wanted to. She pointed toward the table under the skylight. Sara had not looked toward it as she came in. A number of books were piled upon it. Ermengarde's gesture was a dejected one. Papa has sent me some more books, Sara, she said. There they are. Sara looked round and got up at once. She ran to the table and, picking up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. For the moment she forgot her discomforts. Ah. She cried out. How beautiful. Carlyle's French Revolution. I have so wanted to read that I haven't, said Ermengarde, and Papa will be so cross if I don't. He'll expect me to know all about it when I go home for the holidays. What shall I do? Sara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with an excited flush on her cheeks. Look here. She cried. If you lend me these books, I'll read them and tell you everything that's in them afterward. And I'll tell it so that you will remember it too. Oh goodness. Exclaimed Ermengarde. Do you think you can? I know I can, Sara answered. The little ones always remember what I tell them, Sara, said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round face. If you'll do that and make me remember, I'llI'll give you anything. I don't want you to give me anything, said Sara. I want your books. I want them and her eyes grew big and her chest heaved. Take them then, said Ermengarde. I wish I wanted them, but I don't. I'm not clever and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be. Sorrow was opening one book after the other. What are you going to tell your father? She asked, a slight doubt dawning in her mind. Oh, he needn't know, answered Ermengarde. He'll think I've read them. Sara put down her book and shook her head slowly. That's almost like telling lies, she said. And lies. Well, you see, they are not only wicked, they're vulgar. Sometimes, reflectively, I've thought perhaps I might do something wicked. I might suddenly fly into a rage and kill Ms. Minchin, you know, when she was ill treating me. But I couldn't be vulgar. Why can't you tell your father I read them? He wants me to read them, said Ermengarde, a little discouraged by this unexpected turn of affairs. He wants you to know what is in them, said Sarah. And if I can tell it to you in an easy way and make you remember it, I should think he would like that. He'll like it if I learn anything in any way, said rueful Ermengarde. You would if you were my father. It's not your fault that, began Sara. She pulled herself up and stopped rather suddenly. She had been going to say it's not your fault that you are stupid. That what? Ermengarde asked. That you can't learn things, quickly amended Sara. If you can't, you can't. If I can, why, I can, that's all. She always felt very tender of Ermengarde, and tried not to let her feel too strongly the difference between being able to learn anything at once and not being able to learn anything at all. As she looked at her plump face with one of her wise old fashioned thoughts came to her. Perhaps, she said, to be able to learn things quickly isn't everything. To be kind is worth a great deal to other people. If Ms. Minchin knew everything on earth and was like what she is now, she'd still be a detestable thing and everybody would hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and have been wicked. Look at Robespierre. She stopped and examined Ermengarde's countenance, which was beginning to look bewildered. Don't you remember, she demanded, I told you about him not long ago? I believe you've forgotten. Well, I don't remember all of it, admitted Ermengarde. Well, you wait a minute, said Zara, and I'll take off my wet things and wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you over again. She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail against the wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old pair of slippers. Then she jumped on the bed and, drawing the coverlet about her shoulders, sat with her arms round her knees. Now listen, she said. She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution and told such stories of it that Ermengarde's eyes grew round with alarm and she held her breath. But though she was rather terrified there was a delightful thrill in listening and she was not likely to forget Robespierre again or to have any doubts about the Princess de Lamballe. You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it, Sarah explained, and she had beautiful floating blonde hair and when I think of her I never see her head on her body, but always on a pike with those furious people dancing and howling. It was agreed that Mr. St. John, that's Ermengarde's father, was to be told the plan they had made, and for the present the books were to be left in the attic. Now let's tell each other things, said Sara. How are you getting on with your French lessons? Ever so much better since the last time I came up here and you explained the conjugations. Ms. Minchin could not understand why I did my exercises so well that first morning. Morning Sara laughed a little and hugged her knees. She doesn't understand why Lottie is doing her sums so well, she said, but it is because she creeps up here too, and I help Her. She glanced round the room. The attic would be rather nice if it wasn't so dreadful, she said, laughing again. It's a good place to pretend in. The truth was that Ermengarde did not know anything of the sometimes almost unbearable side of life in the attic, and she had not a sufficiently vivid imagination to depict it for herself. On the rare occasions that she could reach Sarah's room, she only saw the side of it which was made exciting by things which were pretended and stories which were told. Her visits partook of the character of adventures, and though sometimes Sara looked rather pale and it was not to be denied that she had grown very thin, her proud little spirit would not admit of complaints. She had never confessed that at times she was almost ravenous with hunger, as she was to night. She was growing rapidly, and her constant walking and running about would have given her a keen appetite, even if she had had abundant and regular meals of a much more nourishing nature than the unappetizing inferior food snatched at such odd times as suited the kitchen convenience. She was growing used to a certain gnawing feeling in her young stomach. I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long and weary march, she often said to herself. She liked the sound of the phrase long and weary march. It made her feel rather like a soldier. She had also a quaint sense of being a hostess in the attic. If I lived in a castle, she argued, and Ermengarde was the lady of another castle and came to see me with knights and squires and vassals riding with her and pennons flying. When I heard the clarions sounding outside the drawbridge, I should go down to receive her, and I should spread feasts in the banquet hall and call in minstrels to sing and play and relate romances when she comes into the attic. I can't spread feasts, but I can tell stories and not let her know disagreeable things. I dare say poor chatelaines had to do that in time of famine when their lands had been pillaged. She was a proud, brave little chatelaine and dispensed generously the one hospitality she could offer. The dreams she dreamed, the visions she saw, the imaginings which were her joy and her comfort. So as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that she was faint as well as ravenous, and that while she talked, she now and then wondered if her hunger would let her sleep. When she was left alone, she felt as if she had never been quite so hungry before. I wish I was as thin as You, Sara, ermengarde said suddenly. I believe you are thinner than you used to be. Your eyes look so big. And look at the sharp little bones sticking out of your elbow. Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up. I always was a thin child, she said bravely. And I always had big green eyes. I love your queer eyes, said Ermengarde, looking into them with affectionate admiration. They always look as if they saw such a long way. I love them. And I love them being green, though they look black generally they are cat's eyes, laughed Sara. But I can't see in the dark with them, because I have tried and I couldn't. I wish I could. It was just at this minute that something happened at the skylight which neither of them saw. If either of them had chanced to turn and look, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face, face which peered cautiously into the room and disappeared as quickly and almost as silently as it had appeared. Not quite as silently, however. Sara, who had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof. That didn't sound like Melchizedek, she said. It wasn't scratchy enough. What? Said Ermengarde, a little startled. Didn't you think you heard something? Asked Sara. No, ermengarde faltered. Did you? Perhaps I didn't, said Sara, but I thought I did. It sounded as if something was on the slates, something that dragged softly. What could it be? Said Ermengarde. Could it be robbers? No. Sara began cheerfully. There is nothing to steal. She broke off in the middle of her words. They both heard the sound that checked her. It was not on the slates but on the stairs below, and it was Ms. Minchin's angry voice. Sara sprang off the bed and put out the candle. She is scolding Becky, she whispered as she stood in the darkness. She is making her cry. Will she come in here? Ermengarde whispered back, panic stricken. No. She will think I am in bed. Don't stir. It was very seldom that Ms. Minchin mounted the last flight of stairs. Sara could only remember that she had done it once before, but now she was angry enough to be coming at least part of the way up, and it sounded as if she was driving Becky before her. You impudent, dishonest child, they heard her say. Cook tells me she has missed things repeatedly. Twarn't me mum, said Becky, sobbing. I was ungry enough, but twarn't me, never. You deserve to be sent to prison, said Ms. Minchin's. Voice picking and stealing half a meat pie indeed. Twarn't me, wept Becky. I could have eat a whole un, but I never laid a finger on it. Miss Minchin was out of breath between temper and mounting the stairs. The meat pie had been intended for her special late supper. It became apparent that she boxed Becky's ears. Don't tell falsehoods, she said. Go to your room this instant. Both Sara and Ermengarde heard the slap and then heard Becky run in her slipshod shoes up the stairs and into the attic. They heard her door shut and knew that she threw herself upon her bed. I could have met two of em, they heard her cry into her pillow, and I never took a bite. Twas cook to give it to her policeman. Sara stood in the middle of the room in the darkness. She was clenching her little teeth and opening and shutting fiercely her outstretched hands. She could scarcely stand still, but she dared not move until Ms. Minchin had gone down the stairs and all was still. The wicked, cruel thing. She burst forth. The cook takes things herself and then says Becky steals them. She doesn't, she doesn't. She's so hungry sometimes that she eats crusts out of the ash barrel. She pressed her hands hard against her face and burst into passionate little sobs. And Ermengarde, hearing this unusual thing, was overawed by it. Sara was crying. The unconquerable Sara. It seemed to denote something new, some mood she had never known. Suppose. Suppose. A new dread, possibility presented itself to her kind, slow little mind. All at once she crept off the bed in the dark and found her way to the table where the candle stood. She struck a match and lit the candle. When she had lighted it, she bent forward and looked at Sarah with her new thought growing to definite fear in her eyes.
- [43:13]
Sarah, she said in a timid, almost awe stricken voice. Are. Are. You never told me. I don't want to be rude, but are you ever hungry? It was too much. Just at that moment the barrier broke down. Sara lifted her face from her hands. Yes, she said in a new, passionate way. Yes, I am. I am so hungry now that I could almost eat you. And it makes it worse to hear. Poor Becky. She's hungrier than I am. Ermengarde gasped. Oh, oh. She cried woefully. And I never knew. I didn't want you to know, Sara said. It would have made me feel like a street beggar. I know I look like a street beggar. No, you don't. You don't. Ermengarde broke in your clothes are a little queer, but you couldn't look like a street beggar. You haven't a street beggar's face. A little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity, said Sara with a short little laugh, in spite of herself. Here it is. And she pulled out the thin ribbon from her neck. He wouldn't have given me his Christmas sixpence if I hadn't looked as if I needed it somehow. The sight of the dear little sixpence was good for both of them. It made them laugh a little, though they both had tears in their eyes. Who was he? Asked Ermengarde, looking at it quite as if it had not been a mere ordinary silver sixpence. He was a darling little thing going to a party, said Sara. He was one of the large family, the little one with the round legs, the one I call Guy Clarence. I suppose his nursery was crammed with Christmas presents and hampers full of cakes and things, and he could see I had nothing. Ermengarde gave a little jump backward. The last sentences had recalled something to her troubled mind and given her a sudden inspiration. Oh, Sara, she cried. What a silly thing I am not to have thought of it. Of what? Something splendid, said Ermengarde, in an excited hurry. This very afternoon my nicest aunt sent me a box. It is full of good things. I never touched it. I had so much pudding at dinner, and I was so bothered about Papa's books. Her words began to tumble over each other. It's got cake in it, and little mince pies and jammed hearts and buns and oranges and red currant wine and figs and chocolate. I'll creep back down to my room and get it this minute and we'll eat it now. Sara almost reeled. When one is faint with hunger, the mention of food has sometimes a curious effect. She clutched Ermengarde's arm. Do you think you could. She ejaculated. I know I could, answered Ermengarde. And she ran to the door, opened it softly, put her head out into the darkness and listened. Then she went back to Sara. The lights are out. Everybody's in bed. I can creep and creep and no one will hear. It was so delightful that they caught each other's hands and a sudden light sprang into Sara's eyes. Ermie, she said, let us pretend. Let us pretend it's a party and. Oh, won't you invite the prisoner in the next cell? Yes, yes, let us knock on the wall. Now the jailer won't hear. Sara went to the wall. Through it she could hear poor Becky crying more softly, she knocked four times. That means come to me through the secret passage under the wall, she explained. I have something to communicate. Five quick knocks answered her. She is coming, she said. Almost immediately the door of the attic opened and Becky appeared. Her eyes were red and her cap was sliding off, and when she caught sight of Ermengarde, she began to rub her face nervously with her apron. Don't mind me a bit, Becky. Cried Ermengarde. Miss Ermengarde has asked you to come in, said Sara, because she is going to bring a box of good things up here to us. Becky's cap almost fell off entirely. She broke in with such excitement to eat, Miss, she said. Things that's good to eat. Yes, answered Sara. And we're going to pretend a party. And you shall have as much as you want to eat. Put in Ermengarde. I'll go this minute. She was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic, she dropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen. No one saw it for a minute or so. Becky was too much overpowered by the good luck which had befallen her. Oh, Miss. Oh, Miss, she gasped. I know it was you that asked her to let me come. It. It makes me cry to think of it. And she went to Sara's side and stood and looked at her worshippingly. But in Sara's hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow and transform her world for her. Here in the attic, with the cold night outside, with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed, with the memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar child's eyes not yet faded, this simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic. She caught her breath. Somehow something always happens, she cried, just before things get to the very worst. It is as if the magic did it. If I could only just remember that always the worst thing never quite comes. She gave Becky a little cheerful shake. No, no, you mustn't cry, she said. We must make haste and set the table. Set the table, Miss, said Becky, gazing round the room. What'll we set it with? Zara looked round the attic too. There doesn't seem to be much, she answered, half laughing. That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. It was Ermengarde's red shawl which lay upon the floor. Here's the shawl. She cried. I know she won't mind it. It will make such a nice red tablecloth. They pulled the old table forward and threw the shawl over it. Red is a wonderfully kind and comfortable color. It began to make the room look furnished directly. How nice a red rug would look on the floor. Exclaimed Sara. We must pretend there is one. Her eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration. The rug was laid down already. How soft and thick it is, she said with the little laugh which Becky knew the meaning of, and she raised and set her foot down again, delicately, as if she felt something under it. Yes, miss, answered Becky, watching her with serious rapture. She was always quite serious. What next? Now, said Sara, and she stood still and put her hands over her eyes. Something will come if I think and wait a little, in a soft, expectant voice, the magic will tell me. One of her favorite fancies was that on the outside, as she called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Becky had seen her stand and wait many a time before and knew that in a few seconds she would uncover an enlightened, laughing face. In a moment she did. There. She cried. It has come. I know. Now I must look among the things in the old trunk I had when I was a princess. She flew to its corner and kneeled down. It had not been put in the attic for her benefit, but because there was no room for it elsewhere. Nothing had been left in it but rubbish. But she knew she should find something. The magic always arranged that kind of thing in one way or another. In a corner lay a package so insignificant looking that it had been overlooked. And when she herself had found it, she had kept it as a relic. It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs. 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. Nuns worked them in convents in Spain. Did they, miss? Breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by the information. You must pretend it, said Sara. If you pretend it enough, you will see them. Yes, Miss, said Becky. And as Sara returned to the trunk, she devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to be desired. Meaning. Becky worked hard to see what Sara is imagining, because if she could, it would be wonderful. Sara turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking very queer indeed. She had shut her eyes and was twisting her face in strange, convulsive contortions, her hands hanging stiffly clenched at her sides she looked as if she was trying to lift some enormous weight. What is the matter, Becky? Sara cried. What are you doing? Becky opened her eyes with a start. I was a pretendin', miss, she answered, a little sheepishly. I was tryin to see it like you do. I almost did, with a hopeful grin. But it takes a lot o strength. Perhaps it does if you're not used to it, said Sara 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 washstand, Becky. Oh, and bring the soap dish for a centerpiece. Becky handed them to her reverently. What are they now, miss? She inquired. You'd think they was made of crockery, but I know they ain't. This is a carven flagon, said Sarah, arranging tendrils of the wreath about the mug. 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 bon bon dishes, sara 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 light 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 Sara drew back and gazed at it, seeing wonders, and Becky, after staring in delight, spoke with bated breath. This here, she suggested with a glance round the attic, is it the Bastille now? Or as it turned into something different? Oh, yes, yes, said Sara, quite different. It is a banquet hall, my eye, Miss ejaculated Becky. A blanket hall, and she turned to view the splendors about her with odd bewilderment. A banquet hall, said Sara. A vast chamber where feasts are given. It has a vaulted roof and a minstrels gallery and a huge chimney filled with blazing oaken logs. And it is brilliant, with waxen tapers twinkling on every side. My eye, Miss Sara. Gasped Becky again. Then the door opened and Ermengarde came in, rather staggering under the weight of her hamper. She started back with an exclamation of joy. To enter from the chill darkness outside and find oneself confronted by a totally unanticipated, fearful festal board draped with red, adorned with white napery and wreathed with flowers was to feel that the preparations were brilliant indeed. Oh, Sara. She cried out. You are the cleverest girl I ever saw. Isn't it nice? Said Sara. They are things out of my old trunk. I asked my magic and it told me to go and look. But oh miss. Cried Becky. Wait till she's told you what they owe are. They ain't just oh Miss, please tell her. Appealing to Sara. So Sara 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 waxen tapers as the things were taken out of the hamper, the frosted cakes, the fruits, the bon bons and the wine. The feast became a splendid thing. It's like a real party. Cried Ermengarde. It's like a queen's table, sighed Becky. Then Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought. I'll tell you what, Sara, she said. Pretend you are a princess now, and this is a royal feast. But it is your feast, said Sarah. You must be the princess, and we will be your maids of honor. Oh, I can't, said Ermengarde. I'm too fat and I don't know how. You be her. Well, if you want me to, said Sara. But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate. 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, Sara said, we shall forget about its 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 Ermengarde and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream. Advance, fair damsels, she said in her happy dream voice. And. And Be seated 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 ho there, minstrels. Strike up with your vials and bassoons. Princesses, she explained rapidly to Ermengarde and Becky, always had minstrels to play at their feasts. Pretend there is 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. Yes, Said Sara, her eyes growing shocked and large in her small white face. 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. Sara stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face paler. Ermengarde 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 Sara at the head of the table, she turned fiercely on Sara. It is your doing. I know, she cried. Ermengarde would never have thought of such a thing. You decorated the table, I suppose, with this rubbish. She stamped her foot at Becky. Go to your attic, she commanded. And Becky stole away, her face hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking. Then it was Sara's turn again. I will attend to you tomorrow. You shall have neither breakfast, dinner nor supper. I have not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Minchin, said Sara 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 Ermengarde's new books. And you, to Ermengarde, have brought your beautiful new books into this dirty attic. Take them up and go back to bed. You will stay there all day tomorrow and I shall write to your papa. What would he say if he knew where you are tonight? 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 Sara, 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 Sara'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 tonight. Ms. 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. How dare you. How dare you. She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into the hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Ermengarde's arms and pushed her before her toward the door. I will leave you to wonder, she said. Go to bed this instant. And she shut the door behind herself and poor stumbling Ermengarde, and left Sarah standing quite alone. 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 napkins and the 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 viols 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 chanced 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 Ermengarde. But she did not look up. She sat with her little black head in her arms for some time. She always sat like that when she was trying to bear something in silence. Then she got up and went slowly to the bed. I can't pretend anything else while I am 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 bright fire in the grate with lots of little dancing flames, she murmured. 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 Melchizedec'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, enclosing 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 cozy 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 feel blankets, and when she put out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin covered eider 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 am 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 knew she never should see. Oh, I haven't awakened, she whispered, daring to rise on her elbow and look all about her. I am 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 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. By the chair a small folding table unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covered dishes, A cup, a saucer, a teapot. 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, and 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 stays 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's 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 are 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 flyleaf, just a few words, and they were these 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 Zara, 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, Sara shut the door gently and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of things, which made her brain reel and her hungry senses faint. It's true, it's true. She cried. I've touched them all. They are as real as we are. The magic has come and done it, Becky, while we were asleep. The magic that won't let those worst things ever quite happen.
- [72:55]
Thank you so much for listening. Don't forget to check out my novel, Christmas Carol. That's Carol with a K. Using the link in the Show Notes, I would be so grateful if you would consider buying a copy or a few copies for yourself or as a gift. If you buy a copy of the book and email me a screenshot of your receipt, you'll be entered into a drawing to receive your choice of either your money back or an additional signed copy. The email to send the receipt to is in the Show Notes. If you buy multiple copies, you can enter the drawing multiple times. The winner will be notified by email. Also, everyone who buys a copy of the book is entitled to a free signed book plate, which you can stick into the book to make it a signed copy. If you'd like one. Just just email the screenshot of your receipt to the email address listed in the Show Notes and let me know whom you'd like the book plate made out to and what address to mail it to. Thank you so much for supporting me and the work I do by buying my book this Christmas time. And of course, don't forget to get in touch with comments or questions about this episode. Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com, click on Contact and select Send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. All right, everyone, story time is over. To be continued.