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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. Hello. Welcome back. We are one week from Thanksgiving. I cannot believe it. The time is just flying by. I feel like I'm on like Thanksgiving watch. Like I'm counting down the days particularly because then we will really be in the Christmas season. You know, we've had this free pass for a while and it's felt kind of exciting and a little bit, I don't know, sort of clandestine. But very soon. Soon, my friends, Santa Claus will arrive at Herald Square, at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and then all bets are off. It's Christmas from here on out. So I'm really excited about that and I'm really, I've really been enjoying this kind of mini secret Christmas time this early Christmas season with you. It's been lots and lots of fun. Even though I do have this really strict policy about about Christmas. I do confess that I have enjoyed doing this with you and I'm so happy to be here right now. So. So since we are a week away exactly from Thanksgiving, that means it's a Thursday. And in our calendar of fun, exciting Victorian Christmas events, that means it's time to announce a new event. So we have had the Christmas card exchange that I announced two weeks ago today and that is ongoing. So if you would like to send cards and receive cards to and from storytime listeners, then you can head on over to the drawing room and check out the announcements channel. Channel and all the directions for how to do that are there. I'm getting the cards. It's really exciting. Cards are starting to come into my mailbox and I will be redistributing those. So cards must be in the mail to me before November 30th. That way I have enough time to turn it all around and get them out to you during the month of December before Christmas. So if you'd like to participate, head on over to the drawing room. But also I would like to announce another Victorian Christmas themed event and this one is about gathering together with family. Right. So we talked about how Christmas cards were invented during the Victorian era. Gathering together with your family was not invented during the Victorian era. But as we discussed in the intro episode and as we've been talking about throughout, people started gathering more with their families at Christmas time because the railway system made it possible for them to travel longer distances. And Christmas became the time when people would kind of drop everything, take time off of work or whatever it was, then head over to their families. So the next event has to do with that. It has to do with gathering together with family because I am going to be gathering together with my family over Thanksgiving break and you're invited. So we are going to be doing. And by we, I mean my dad, Andrew Clavin, my brother Spencer Clavin and me. We are going to be doing a live stream Q and A on the Friday after Thanksgiving. So that's November 28th, the day after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, it will be at 4pm Eastern and you will be able to watch live. If you miss it, you'll be able to watch the video later. And beforehand you will be able to submit your questions and we will try to answer them live. It's going to be a really fun, cozy, informal chat. We're going to be just hanging out and you are invited. So in the show notes are two links. One is the link to the actual live stream. So the link is available now. It's on YouTube, which means that anyone can watch it. So you don't have to be a member of the drawing room. You don't have to be a member of anything that my dad or brother have. It's on YouTube, free for everyone to watch. So the link to that is there. As I say, it won't go live until Friday 28th November at 4pm Eastern, but it's there, so you can bookmark it if you want. And the other link that's really important, that's there is a Google form where you can submit your questions. They can be questions for me, they can be questions for my dad, for my brother, for all three of us. You can post multiple questions if you want. The questions will be seen by us, not by everyone. So just by us. And we will choose as many of them as we possibly can to answer during the live stream, which will last about an hour. So please do click on that link as soon as you can and submit your questions. It's Ask me anything. So you can ask us anything you want that has to do with things that we might be able to talk about. So you can ask me specific questions that you maybe Want to know about the show or about books or anything that you think I could talk about? You can. Also, if you know about my dad and my brother, if you happen to listen to them, you can. This is an opportunity to ask questions to them, ask about family lore, whatever you want. I'm hanging out with my family for the holidays and you guys are invited and I cannot wait to spend this time with you. So please check out the show notes for both the link to the live stream itself and the link to to the Google form and submit your questions. I can't wait to hear what you guys want to know, so I will remind you about that as we get closer. But that is the event for this two week period and in two weeks from today, I will announce another Victorian Christmas themed event. So keep listening, stay tuned. There's lots of fun stuff coming up and there's lots of ongoing fun stuff. As I said, we've got the Christmas card exchange. Also, I am still mailing out book plates. You guys. I am so blown away by how many of you are buying my book and asking for book plates and entering these drawings. I'm so humbled and grateful. Thank you. Thank you to all of you who have bought the book. I really hope you enjoy it and there's still time to pick up a copy. So if you buy a copy, two things will happen. One is you can be entered into a drawing. The prize currently is a Storytime for Grown Ups mug that I would mail to you if you won. And also you can get a signed book plate. It's a sticker with my signature on it. I'll make it out to you or whoever you want to give the book to. I'll write a little message and sign it and then you can stick that in the front of the page book and make it into a signed copy. So that's pretty cool. You can get that automatically. You don't have to enter a drawing, I'll just give it to you. Buy the book, get a book plate. But you do have to follow the directions on the Storytime for Grown Ups page so that I know that you want a book plate and that you want to be entered into the drawing. So scroll into the show notes for that as well. It's pretty clear in the show notes which link to click and then you'll get taken to a page where all the directions for that are there. So I hope you'll buy my book. The link to that is also in the show notes and I would love to send you a book plate. And enter you into the drawing. And I hope that you win the mug, so check that out as well. The only other thing, the last announcement is that tea time is happening December 2nd over in the drawing room at 8pm Eastern. And if you'd like to join in on that voice chat, it's like a group phone call and you're not a member of the landed gentry. Click the link in the show notes to sign up if you'd like to be a part of that. All right, enough of that. I hope you will join me for one or all of these Victorian Christmas themed activities. But now let's get back to the reason we're actually here, which is to read A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. So last time we read chapter six, today we're going to be reading chapter seven. I've got some great questions. We're going to chat for a little bit and then we'll get into these chapters. So first let's just remind ourselves of what happened in chapter six. Here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, we learned that Sarah's father has entered into a business plan with an old school friend to purchase some diamond mines which, if they prove to be filled with diamonds, will make rich beyond belief. Sara's pretend of being a princess is outed by Lavinia. But most of the girls love Sara and feel that she really is like a princess. Becky, the scullery maid especially feels that Sara is like a princess. And Sara keeps giving her food to eat and telling her stories so that Becky is getting less thin and less sickly. Eventually it's Sara's 11th birthday and her father writes to tell her he's sending her a doll. But he also says that he's ill and that perhaps the business with the diamond mines isn't going as well as he thought it would. On her birthday, the whole school puts on a huge party for her. But before she goes down to it, she stops in her room and finds a present from Becky who has sewed her a little pin cushion. And Sara is so touched by this that she hugs Becky and she tells her she loves her. Alright, I'm going to read three questions today. The first one comes from giada, who is 15. She writes, My name is Giada Amaya, I'm 15 and listen with my mom. I'm curious if there was a time jump in chapter six. I believe when the book began Sara was seven and in chapter six she was celebrating her 11th birthday. The second one comes from Patti, and Patti wrote this over in Our online community, the Drawing Room. She writes, I had forgotten how much I enjoyed this book. Now that I'm older, I wish I could have the bank account like Sara has where I could bless others largess, like our little princess does for others around her. But I suppose that the book is trying to tell me that I don't need a large bank account for that. I can still bless people with kind words, an attentive ear, or a good story. And this last one comes from Elizabeth. Elizabeth writes, I'm feeling kind of worried for Captain Crew, that letter he sent. Sorrow was sort of ominous. Why was it in the book, if not to alert us that he's sick or something's wrong with the diamond mines or something? Okay, right. So the last chapter that we read, it was a bit shorter, so there isn't a ton to talk about. But I do think there are a couple of things that it makes sense to touch on before we get back to the book. But one is the sort of logistical piece that Giada brought up in her letter. We have had a time jump. We actually got it a couple chapters ago in chapter four, but it was really subtle. So at the start of chapter four, which was the chapter about Lottie, it said, here's a quote. If Sara had been a different kind of child, the life she led at Ms. Minchin's Select Seminary for the next few years would not have been at all good for her. Okay, so like I said, super subtle. But essentially it was telling us that a few years ago have passed since she arrived at this school. And as Giada noticed, Sara is now turning 11. So we left her last time, about to go down to her 11th birthday party. So Sara arrived at the school when she was seven, and now she's about to turn 11. So it's been about three and a half years or so, let's say, since her father dropped her off at the school. So the chapters where Sara is adopting Lottie and meeting and befriending Becky and everything, they happen when Sara is probably around 10 or so. None of this matters overly much. Like you can still understand the story and enjoy it if you think she's seven. But at this point, it is worth noting that we've had a jump forward in time. Sara is not 7, she's 11. And I think that's important because at this point we've sort of moved away from that introductory mode that we were in before, where each chapter was like the name of someone like Ermengarde and Lottie and Becky and everyone and we are in a new phase of the story now. So it's helpful to be able to picture Sara and understand that she's not a very little girl anymore. She's more of what we would now call. Call like a tween. Right. And that is actually important, I think, because we've been talking about the way in which Sara is both childlike and adult. So it might be helpful to think about that as she grows out of her very young childhood and into this new phase, because as Sara said in the last chapter, this doll, for example, that her father is going to give her for her birthday, it's going to be the last doll, okay? So she's very much aware of getting older and of that transition from child to adult, that is adolescence. And if you were with us over the summer when we talked about fairy tales, this is a really key age for characters in fairy tales, right? Lots and lots of fairy tales are about that moment, that transition from child to adult. And lots and lots of princess fairy tales in particular are about that. And often the hardship that the princess must face. Think about, like, Cinderella or Snow White or actually any fairy tale princess, really, but the hardship, it's often symbolic of the huge changes that happen in adolescence. So Sara likes to pretend she's a princess. Right. The whole school now thinks of her as a princess, some in a sort of mocking way, like as a literal princess, some in an admiring way, as a fairy tale princess. And so I think it's a good idea for us to keep paying attention to the references to princesses and how they play out in the story. And as Patty points out in her comment, this distinction between the fairy tale and the literal princess was still very much on display in chapter six. I think Patti puts it very well that we think of charity as sort of financial, and we wish that we were incredibly wealthy so that we had money to spare for the poor. But actually, that's the literal version of princess and largess and everything. The fairy tale version of being a princess means that you don't need money, right? You can spread kindness and acceptance and whatever people need emotionally, and you can behave a certain way. And. And that's what Sara does, even though she has got enough money to also give money away as well, which she does, like when she's buying Becky different foods and things like that. But one of the things about being a fairy tale princess is that the princess part is symbolic. You don't have to actually be royalty or even very rich to embody the traits of a fairy tale princess. And that's a theme that has started to arise in the last few chapters, right? This disconnect between the people like Lavinia who think that being a princess means being high status, being rich, being above everyone else socially, and people like Sara and Becky who know that being a princess is more of, like, a state of mind. Okay, here's what Jesse says when she's talking to Lavinia about Sara. It says. She says, it has nothing to do with what you look like or what you have. It has only to do with what you think of and what you do. And then Lavinia says, and she's clearly being sarcastic here, but she's actually hitting the nail completely on the head, right? She says, I suppose she thinks she could be a princess if she was a beggar. But actually, yes, that's exactly what Sara thinks. I mean, think about Cinderella or Snow White again, right? Those princesses were still princesses even when they had to scrub the floors and sleep in the woods or whatever it was that they had to do. And they were princesses not because they had wealth, but because they continued to be kind and hopeful and courageous and loyal and all the things that fairy tale princesses are. But what I think is worth noting is that for Becky, this pretend of Sara's that she's a princess is very, very real. Becky is a great character. I think she might actually be my favorite character. I'm still thinking about that, but I think she might be. And one of the things I love about her is the way that she brings the real world into this very fancy, very out of touch situation. And she shows us what Sara's kindness and other princess qualities really, truly meet. It's one thing to pretend you're a princess in the midst of a bunch of, like, rich, cared for children. It's another to actually act like a fairy tale princess to a scullery maid and treat the scullery maid like your equal, which Sara does. I mean, listen to the way that Becky describes her own life, okay? She says he gets used to anything after a bit. You have to miss. If you're born a scullery maid, I'd rather have rats than cockroaches. I mean, that is the real world, like, up close and personal. And it's that idea again that we got last time about not being able to help how you were born, right? If you're born a scullery maid, you have to get used to anything because you don't have a choice. It's not Becky's fault that she was born poor. It doesn't say anything about her inherent worth as a human being. But she lives in a society that acts as if it says everything about her inherent worth as a human being. And it takes someone like Sara to cross those social divides and say, like, no, you're just a little girl like me. And the impact that this has on Becky is huge. Right out there in the real world. What Sara is offering is not pretend. It's the stuff of life. Okay, here's what it says. It says, in fact, the mere seeing of Miss Sara would have been enough without meat pies. If there was time only for a few words. They were always friendly, 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 to poor Becky. And how wonderful a benefactor she seemed. Okay, so again, we've got the world of pretend causing good in the real world. It's almost like the pretending is a force of its own. Sort of like magic made real or something like that. Sara's pretending is not just pretending. There's something more to it. It's got a reality to it that most pretending doesn't. But I want to touch on Elizabeth's comment. Before we get back to this birthday party that we're about to have. Because I do think that Burnett wants us to notice that all is not right with Captain Crew. Right. The letter he sends to Sara that we got in Chapter six Makes it sound like he is ill. Right. He tells her he's got a migraine. And also, like he's sort of in over his head with this business deal. We don't know whether the business deal is going sideways somehow. Or if it's fine. But he just doesn't understand it. But we don't need to know that the whole thing with the diamond mines. Is coming to us through the lens of childhood. We know only what Sara and the other students know about the diamond mines. Which is that they're mines full of diamonds. Okay? But Captain Crew is dealing with the business side of things, whatever that is. And it seems to be making him ill and depressed. So that's concerning. But we don't know what, if anything, that means for him or for Sara in the long run. But it's interesting. I Think that within the same chapter, we get this very practical, worldly reminder about the actual wealth, like the cold, hard cash essentially represented by the diamonds. So the literal princessness of it all, we get that juxtaposed with this gift from Becky, right? This little pin cushion made out of old flannel and wrapped in lumpy paper and all of this. And I think it's worth noting that this gift from Becky, because she worked so hard on it on top of her other duties, this gift is more special to Sara than anything she's about to go and open downstairs, even though those gifts are far more grand. And Sara is really moved by this, even though she can't really put into words exactly what it is that's affecting her so, so much. Right? Here's what it says. It says Sarah flew at her and hugged her. She could not have told herself or anyone else why there was a lump in her throat. All right, so Sara, too, is experiencing what really matters. It's not the price tag on the present. It's the care and attention behind it. It's literally the thought that counts. Right? So brunette is again and again confronting us with this idea of what makes a princess, what makes a good person. And again and again, she's showing us that it's not about the money. It's about what's. What's on the inside. Right? The inside is what counts. All right, so Sarah's about to go down to her birthday party and we're invited, right? So let's get back to the book and see what happens next. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faith k.moore.com. and then you click on Contact. Or you can scroll into the show notes and click on the link that's there. Kids can write in, too. Just let me know that you're a kid and how old you are. And I would love to hear your comments as well. Well, so please do write in and please do check out the show notes for all those other links. I hope especially that you'll join me and my dad and my brother for the holidays on November 28th. It's a Friday at 4pm Eastern. Check the link. Check the link for the question form as well and get your questions in. I hope that you'll join us for that. All right, let's get started with chapter seven of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It's story time. Chapter 7, the Diamond Mines again. When Sara entered the Holly Hung schoolroom in the afternoon, she did so as the head of a sort of procession. Miss Minchin, in her grandest silk dress, led her by the hand. A manservant followed, carrying the box containing the last doll. A housemaid carried a second box, and Becky brought up the rear, carrying a third and wearing a clean apron and a new cap. Sara would have much preferred to enter in the usual way, but Miss Minchin had sent for her and after an interview in her private sitting room, had expressed her wishes. This is not an ordinary occasion, she said. I do not desire that it should be treated as one. So Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when on her entry the big girls stared at her and touched each other's elbows, and the little ones began to squirm joyously in their seats. Silence, young ladies, said Miss Minchin at the murmur which arose. James, place the box on the table and remove the lid. Emma, put yours upon a chair. Beckysuddenly and severely. Becky had quite forgotten herself in her excitement and was grinning at Lottie, who was wriggling with rapturous expectation. She almost dropped her boxthe disapproving voice so startled her, and her frightened bobbing curtsy of apology was so funny that Lavinia and Jessie tittered. It is not your place to look at the young ladies, said Miss Minchin. You forget yourself. Put your box down. Becky obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward the door. You may leave us, miss Minchin announced to the servants with a wave of her hand. Becky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servants to pass out first. She could not help casting a longing glance at the box on the table. Something made of blue satin was peeping from between the folds of tissue paper. If you please, Ms. Minchin, said Sara suddenly. Mayn't Becky stay? It was a bold thing to do. Miss Minchin was betrayed into something like a slight jump. Then she put her eyeglass up and gazed at her show pupil disturbedly. Becky. She exclaimed. My dearest Sara. Sara advanced a step toward her. I want her because I know she will like to see the presents, she explained. She is a little girl too, you know. Miss Minchin was scandalized. She glanced from one figure to the other. My dear Sara, she said, becky is the scullery maid. Scullery maids are not little girls. It really had not occurred to her to think of them in that light. Scullery maids were machines who carried coal scuttles and made fire years. But Becky is, said Sara, and I know she would enjoy herself. Please let her stay because it is my birthday, miss Minchin replied with much dignity as you ask it as a birthday favor. She may stay. Rebecca. Thank Miss Sara for her great kindness. Becky had been backing into the corner, twisting the hem of her apron in delighted suspense. She came forward, bobbing curtsies. But between Sara's eyes and her own, there passed a gleam of friendly understanding while her words tumbled over each other. Oh, if you please, miss. I'm that grateful, miss. I did want to see the doll, miss. That I did. Thank you, miss. And thank you, ma'. Am. Turning and making an alarmed bob to Miss Minchin for letting me take the liberty. Miss Minchin waved her hand again. This time it was in the direction of the corner near the door. Go and stand there, she commanded, not too near the young ladies. Becky went to her place, grinning. She did not care where she was sent, so that she might have the luck of being inside the room instead of being downstairs in the scullery while these delights were going on. She did not even mind when Miss Minchin cleared her throat ominously and spoke again. Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you, she announced. She's going to make a speech, whispered one of the girls. I wish it was over. Sara felt rather uncomfortable. As this was her party, it was probable that the speech was about her. It is not agreeable to stand in a schoolroom and have a speech made about you. You are aware, young ladies, the speech began, for it was a speech that Dear Sarah is 11 years old today. Dear Sara, murmured Lavinia. Several of you here have also been 11 years old, but Sarah's birthdays are rather different from other little girls birthdays. When she is older she will be heiress to a large fortune, which it will be her duty to see spend in a meritorious manner. The diamond mines, giggled Jessie in a whisper. Sara did not hear her, but as she stood with her green gray eyes fixed steadily on Miss Minchin, she felt herself growing rather hot. When Miss Minchin talked about money, she felt somehow that she always hated her. And of course it was disrespectful to hate grown up people. When her dear papa, Captain Crewe, brought her from India and gave her into my care, the speech proceeded. He said to me in a jesting way, I am afraid she will be very rich, Miss Minchin. My reply was her education at my seminary, Captain Crewe shall be such as will adorn the largest fortune. Sara has become my most accomplished pupil. Her French and her dancing are a credit to the seminary. Her manners, which have caused you to call her Princess Sara, are perfect. Her amiability she exhibits by giving you this afternoon's party. I hope you appreciate her generosity. I wish you to express your appreciation of it by saying aloud altogether. Thank you, Sara. The entire schoolroom rose to its feet as it had done the morning Sarah remembered so well. Thank you, Sara, it said, and it must be confessed that Lottie jumped up and down. Sara looked rather shy for a moment. She made a curtsy, and it was a very nice one. Thank you, she said, for coming to my party. Very pretty indeed. Zara approved, Ms. Minchin. That is what a real princess does when the populace applauds her. Lavinia scathingly. The sound you just made was extremely like a snort. If you are jealous of your fellow pupil, I beg you will express your feelings in some more ladylike manner. Now I will leave you to enjoy yourselves. The instant she swept out of the room, the spell her presence always had upon them was broken. The door had scarcely closed before every seat was empty. The little girls jumped or tumbled out of theirs. The older ones wasted no time in deserting theirs. There was a rush toward the boxes. Sarah had bent over one of them with a delighted face. These are books, I know, she said. The little children broke into a rueful murmur, and Ermengarde looked aghast. Does your papa send you books for a birthday present? She exclaimed. Why, he's as bad as mine. Don't open them, Sara. I like them. Sara laughed, but she turned to the biggest box. When she took out the last doll, it was so magnificent that the children uttered delighted groans of joy and actually drew back to gaze at it in breathless rapture. She's almost as big as Lottie. Someone gasped. Lottie clapped her hands and danced about, giggling. She's dressed for the theater, said Lavinia. Her cloak is lined with ermine. Oh. Cried Ermengarde, darting forward. She has an opera glass in her hand, a blue and gold one. Here is her trunk, said Sarah. Let us open it and look at her things. She sat down upon the floor and turned the key. The children crowded, clamoring around her as she lifted tray after tray and revealed their contents. Never had the schoolroom been in such an uproar. There were lace collars and silk stockings and handkerchiefs. There was a jewel case containing a necklace and a tiara, which looked quite as if they were made of real diamonds. There was a long sealskin muff. There were ball dresses and walking dresses and visiting dresses. There were hats and tea gowns and fans. Even Lavinia and Jessie forgot that they were too elderly to care for dolls and uttered exclamations of delight, and caught up things to look at them. Suppose, sara said as she stood by the table putting a large black velvet hat on the impassively smiling owner of all these splendors. Suppose she understands human talk and feels proud of being admired. You are always supposing things, said Lavinia, and her air was very superior. I know I am, answered Sara undisturbedly. I like it. There is nothing so nice as supposing. It's almost like being a fairy. If you suppose anything hard enough, it seems as if it were real. It's all very well to suppose things if you have everything, said Lavinia. Could you suppose and pretend if you were a beggar and lived in a garret? Sara stopped arranging the last doll's ostrich plumes and looked thoughtful. I believe I could, she said, if one was a beggar, one would have to suppose and pretend all the time. But it mightn't be easy. She often thought afterward how strange it was that just as she had finished saying this, just at that very moment Miss Amelia came into the room. Sara, she said, Your papa's solicitor, Mr. Barrow, has called to see Miss Minchin, and as she must talk to him alone, and the refreshments are laid in the parlour, and you had all better come and have your feast now, so that my sister can have her interview here in the schoolroom. Refreshments were not likely to be disdained at any hour, and many pairs of eyes gleamed. Miss Amelia arranged the procession into decorum, and then, with Sarah at her side heading it, she led it away, leaving the last doll sitting upon a chair with the glories of her wardrobe scattered about, her dresses and coats hung upon chair backs, piles of lace frilled petticoats lying upon their seats. Becky, who was not expected to partake of refreshments, had the indiscretion to linger a moment to look at these beauties. It really was an indiscretion. Go back to your work, Becky, miss Amelia had said, but she had stopped to pick up reverently first a muff and then a coat, and while she stood looking at them adoringly, she heard Miss Minchin upon the threshold, and being smitten with terror at the thought of being accused of taking liberties, she rashly darted under the table which hid her by its table cloth. Miss Minchin came into the room accompanied by a sharp featured dry little gentleman who looked rather disturbed. Miss Minchin herself also looked rather disturbed, it must be admitted, and she gazed at the dry little gentleman with an irritated and puzzled expression. She sat down with stiff dignity and waved him to a chair. Pray be seated, Mr. Barrow, she said. Mr. Barrow did not sit down at once. His attention seemed attracted by the last doll and the things which surrounded her. He settled his eyeglasses and looked at them in nervous disapproval. The last doll herself did not seem to mind this in the least. She merely sat upright and returned his gaze indifferently. A hundred pounds, Mr. Barrow remarked succinctly. All expensive material and made at a Parisian modiste's. Modiste is a fashionable dressmaker. He spent money lavishly enough, that young man. Miss Minchin felt offended. This seemed to be a disparagement of her best patron and was a liberty. Even solicitors had no right to take liberties. I Beg your pardon, Mr. Barrow, she said stiffly. I do not understand. Birthday presents, said Mr. Barrow in the same critical manner to a child 11 years old. Mad extravagance, I call it. Miss Minchin drew herself up still more rigidly. Captain Crewe is a man of fortune, she said. The diamond mines alone. Mr. Barrow wheeled round upon her. Diamond mines, he broke out. There are none. Never were. Miss Minchin actually got up from her chair. What? She cried. What do you mean? At any rate, answered Mr. Barrow quite snappishly, it would have been much better if there never had been any. Any diamond mines, ejaculated Miss Minchin, catching at the back of a chair and feeling as if a splendid dream was fading away from her. Diamond mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth, said Mr. Barrow. When a man is in the hands of a very dear friend and is not a business man himself, he had better steer clear of the dear friends diamond mines, or gold mines, or any other kind of mines. Dear friends want his money to put into the late Captain Crewe here. Miss Minchin stopped him with a gasp. The late Captain Crewe. She cried out. The late. You don't come to tell me that Captain Crewe is. He's dead, ma', am, Mr. Barrow answered with jerky brusqueness. Died of jungle fever and business troubles combined. Jungle fever is a severe form of malaria. The jungle fever might not have killed him if he had not been driven mad by the business troubles. And the business troubles might not have put an end to him if the jungle fever had not assisted. Captain Crewe is dead. Miss Minchin dropped into her chair again. The words he had spoken filled her with alarm. What were his business troubles? She said. What were they? Diamond mines, answered Mr. Barrow. And dear friends. And ruin. Miss Minchin lost her Breath. Ruin, she gasped out. Lost every penny. That young man had too much money. The dear friend was mad on the subject of the diamond mine. He put all his own money into it, and all Captain Crewe's. Then the dear friend ran away. Captain Crewe was already stricken with fever when the news came. The shock was too much for him. He died delirious, raving about his little girl, and didn't leave a penny. Now Miss Minchin understood. And never had she received such a blow in her life. Her show pupil, her show patron, swept away from the select seminary at one blow. She felt as if she had been outraged and robbed and that Captain Crewe and Sara and Mr. Barrow were equally to blame. Do you mean to tell me, she cried out, that he left nothing, that sorrow will have no fortune, that the child is a beggar, that she has left on my hands a little pauper instead of an heiress? Mr. Barrow was a shrewd businessman and felt it as well to make his own freedom from responsibility quite clear without any delay. She is certainly left a beggar, he replied. And she is certainly left on your hands, ma', am, as she hasn't a relation in the world that we know of. Miss Minchin started forward. She looked as if she was going to open the door and rush out of the room to stop the festivities going on joyfully and rather noisily that moment over the refreshments. It is monstrous, she said. She is in my sitting room at this moment, dressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, giving a party at my expense. Expense? She's giving it at your expense, madam, if she's giving it, said Mr. Barrow calmly. Barrow and Skipworth are not responsible for anything. There never was a cleaner sweep made of a man's fortune. Captain Crood died without paying our last bill, and it was a big one. Miss Minchin turned back from the door in increased indignation. This was worse than anyone could have dreamed of its being. That is what has happened to me. She cried. I was always so sure of his payments that I went to all sorts of ridiculous expenses for the child. I paid the bills for that ridiculous doll and her ridiculous fantastic wardrobe. The child was to have anything she wanted. She has a carriage and a pony and a maid, and I've paid for all of them since the last cheque came. Mr. Barrow evidently did not intend to remain to listen to the story of Miss Minchin's grievances after he had made the position of his firm clear and related the mere dry facts. He did not feel any particular Sympathy for irate keepers of boarding schools. You had better not pay for anything more, ma', am, he remarked. Unless you want to make presents to the young lady. No one will remember you. She hasn't a brass farthing to call her own. But what am I to do? Demanded Miss Minchin, as if she felt it entirely his duty to make the matter right. What am I to do? There isn't anything to do, said Mr. Barrow, folding up his eyeglasses and slipping them into his pocket. Captain Crewe is dead. The child is left a pauper. Nobody is responsible for her but you. I am not responsible for her, and I refuse to be made responsible. Miss Minchin became quite white with rage. Mr. Barrow turned to go. I have nothing to do with that, madam, he said uninterestedly. Barrow and Skipworth are not responsible. Very sorry the thing has happened. Of course, if you think she is to be foisted off on me, you are greatly mistaken. Miss Minchin gasped. I have been robbed and cheated. I will turn her into the street. If she had not been so furious, she would have been too discreet to say quite so much. She saw herself burdened with an extravagantly brought up child whom she had always resented, and she lost all self control. Pupil Mr. Barrow undisturbedly moved toward the door. I wouldn't do that, madam, he commented. It wouldn't look well. Unpleasant story to get about in connection with the establishment. Pupil bundled out penniless and without friends. He was a clever business man and he knew what he was saying. He also knew that Miss Minchin was a businesswoman and would be shrewd enough to see the truth. She could not afford to do a thing which would make people speak of her as cruel and hard hearted. Better keep her and make use of her, he said. She's a clever child. I believe you can get a good deal out of her as she grows older. I will get a good deal out of her before she grows older. Exclaimed Miss Minchin. I am sure you will, ma', am, said Mr. Barrow with a little sinister smile. I am sure you will. Good morning. He bowed himself out and closed the door. And it must be confessed that Miss Minchin stood for a few moments and glared at it. What he had said was quite true. She knew it. She had absolutely no redress. Meaning there's nothing she could do about this. Her show pupil had melted into nothingness, leaving only a friendless, beggared little girl. Such money as she herself had advanced was lost and could not be regained. And as she stood there breathless under her Sense of injury. There fell upon her ears a burst of gay voices from her own sacred room, which had actually been given up to the feet, and she could at least stop this. But as she started toward the door, it was opened by Miss Amelia, who, when she caught sight of the changed, angry face, fell back a step in alarm. What is the matter, sister? She ejaculated. Miss Minchin's voice was almost fierce when she answered. Where is Sara Crewe? Miss Amelia was bewildered. Zara, she stammered. Why, she's with the children in your room, of course. Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe? In bitter irony? A black frock? Miss Amelia stammered again. A black one? She has frocks in every other colour. Has she a black one? Miss Amelia began to turn pale. No. Yes, she said. But it is too short for her. She has only the old black velvet and she has outgrown it. Go and tell her to take off that preposterous pink silk gauze and put the black one on. Whether it is too short or not, she has done with finery. Then Miss Amelia began to wring her fat hands and cry. Oh, sister. She sniffed. Oh, sister. What can have happened? Miss Minchin wasted no words. Captain Crewe is dead, she said. He has died without a penny. That spoiled, pampered, fanciful child is left a pauper on my hands. Miss Amelia sat down quite heavily in the nearest chair. Hundreds of pounds have I spent on nonsense for her, and I shall never see a penny of it. Put a stop to this ridiculous party of hers. Go and make her change her frock at once. I panted. Miss Amelia, must I go and tell her now? This moment was the fierce answer. Don't sit staring like a goose. Go. Poor Miss Amelia was accustomed to being called a goose. She knew, in fact, that she was rather a goose, and that it was left to geese to do a great many disagreeable things. It was a somewhat embarrassing thing to go into the midst of a room full of delighted children and tell the giver of the feast that she had suddenly been transformed into a little beggar and must go upstairs and put on an old black frock which was too small for her. But the thing must be done. This was evidently not the time when questions might be asked. She rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief until they looked quite red, after which she got up and went out of the room without venturing to say another word. When her older sister looked and spoke as she had done just now, the wisest course to pursue was to obey orders without any comment. Miss Minchin walked across the room. She spoke to herself aloud without knowing that she was doing it. During the last year, the story of the diamond mines had suggested all sorts of possibilities to her. Even proprietors of seminaries might make fortunes in stocks with the aid of owners of mines. And now, instead of looking forward to gains, she 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 COVID 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 ordered, but I was lookin at the doll, Mum, and I was frightened when you come in and slipped under the table. You have been there all the time listening, said Miss Minchin. No, Mum. Becky protested, bobbing curses, 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 nothing, 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 AST. Yeah, Ms. Sara, she's been such a rich young lady and she's been waited on and in foot. And 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 and 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. Nocertainly not, she said. She will wait on herself and on other people too. Leave the room this instant or you will 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 poor 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 Sarah 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 Ms. 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 seats. 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 her chin began to shake and she turned round and ran out of the room and up upstairs. Several of the other children began to cry, but she did not seem to hear them or to be alive to anything but just what I was saying. It made me feel quite queer not to be answered. And when you tell anything sudden and strange, you expect people will say something, whatever it is. Nobody but Sara herself knew what had happened in her room after she had run upstairs and locked her door. In fact, the she herself scarcely remembered anything but that. She walked up and down, saying over and over again to herself in a voice which did not seem her own, my papa is dead. My papa is dead. Once she stopped before Emily, who sat watching her from her chair and cried out wildly, emily, do you hear? Do you hear? Papa is dead. He is dead. In India, thousands of miles away. When she came into Ms. Minchin's sitting room in answer to her summons, her face was white and her eyes had dark rings around them. Her mouth was set as if she did not wish to reveal what she had suffered and was suffering. She did not look in the least like the rose colored butterfly child who had flown about from one of her treasures to the other in the decorated schoolroom. She looked instead a strange, desolate, almost grotesque little figure she had put on without Mariette's help. The cast aside black velvet frock. It was too short and tight and her slender legs looked long and thin, showing themselves from beneath the brief skirt as she had not found a piece of black ribbon. Her short, thick black hair tumbled loosely about her face and contrasted strongly with its pallor. She held Emily tightly in one arm and Emily was swathed in a piece of black material. Put down your doll, said Ms. Minchin. What do you mean by bringing her here? No, Sara answered. I will not put her down. She is all I have. My papa gave her to me. She had always made Miss Minchin feel secretly uncomfortable, and she did so now. She did not speak with rudeness so much as with a cold steadiness with which Miss Minchin felt it difficult to cope, perhaps because she knew she was doing a heartless and inhuman thing. You will have no time for dolls in the future, she said. You will have to work and improve yourself and make yourself useful. Sara kept her big strange eyes fixed on her and said not a word. Everything will be different now, miss Minchin went on. I suppose Miss Amelia has explained matters to you. You? Yes, answered Zara. My papa is dead. He left me no money. I am quite poor. You are a beggar, said Miss Minchin, her temper rising at the recollection of what all this meant. It appears that you have no relations and no home and no one to take care of you. For a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Sarah again said nothing. What are you staring at? Demanded Miss Minchin sharply. Are you so stupid that you cannot understand? I tell you that you are quite alone in the world and have no one to do anything for you unless I choose to keep you here out of charity. I understand, answered Sarah in a low tone, and there was a sound as if she had gulped down something which rose in her throat. I understand that doll. Cried Miss Minchin, pointing to the splendid birthday gift seated near that ridiculous doll with all her Nonsensical, extravagant things. I actually paid the bill for her. Sara turned her head toward the chair. The last doll, she said. The last doll. And her little mournful voice had an odd sound. The last doll, indeed, said Miss Minchin. And she is mine, not yours. Everything you own is mine. Please take it away from me then, said Sara. I do not want it. If she had cried and sobbed and seemed frightened, Miss Minchin might almost have had more patience with her. She was a woman who liked to domineer and feel her power, and as she looked at Sarah's pale little steadfast face and heard her proud little voice, she quite felt as if her might was being set at naught. Don't put on grand airs, she said. The time for that sort of thing is past. You are not a princess any longer. Your carriage and your pony will be sent away. Your maid will be dismissed. You will wear your oldest and plainest clothes. Your extravagant ones are no longer suited to your station. You are like Becky and you must work for a living. To her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the child's eyes, a shade of relief. Can I work? She said. If I can work, it will not matter so much. What can I do? You can do anything you are told, was the answer. You are a sharp child and pick up things readily. If you make yourself useful, I may let you stay here. You speak French well, and you can help with the younger children. May I? Exclaimed Sara. Oh, please let me. I know I can teach them. I like them and they like me. Don't talk nonsense about people liking you, said Miss Minchin. You will have to do more than teach the little ones. You will run errands and help in the kitchen as well as in the schoolroom. If you don't please me, you will be sent away. Remember that. Now go. Sara stood still just a moment, looking at her. In her young soul she was thinking deep and strange things. Then she turned to leave the room. Stop, said Miss Minchin. Don't you intend to thank me? Sara paused, and all the deep, strange thoughts surged up in her breast. What for? She asked. For my kindness to you, replied Miss Minchin. For my kindness in giving you a home. Sarah made two or three steps toward her. Her thin little chest heaved up and down, and she spoke in a strange, unchildishly fierce way. You are not kind, she said. You are not kind and it is not a home. And she had turned and run out of the room before Miss Minchin could stop her or do anything but stare after her with stony anger. She went up the stairs slowly, but panting for breath, and she held Emily tightly against her side. I wish she could talk, she said to herself. If she could speak, if she could speak. She meant to go to her room and lie down on the tiger skin with her cheek upon the great cat's head and look into the fire and think and think and think. But just before she reached the landing, Miss Amelia came out of the door and closed it behind her and stood before it, looking nervous and awkward. The truth was that she felt secretly ashamed of the thing she had been ordered to do. You. You are not to go in there, she said. Not go in? Exclaimed Sarah, and she fell back a pace. This is not your room now, miss Amelia answered, reddening a little. Somehow, all at once Sara understood. She realized that this was the beginning of the change Miss Minchin had spoken of. Where is my room? She asked, hoping very much that her voice did not shake. You are to sleep in the attic next to Becky. Sara knew where it was. Becky had told her about it. She turned and mounted up two flights of stairs. The last one was narrow and covered with shabby strips of old carpet. She felt as if she were walking away and leaving far behind her the world in which that other child who no longer seemed herself, had lived. This child in her short, tight old frock, climbing the stairs to the attic, was quite a different creature. When she reached the attic door and opened it, her heart gave a dreary little thump. Then she shut the door and stood against it and looked about her. Yes, this was another world. The room had a slanting roof and was whitewashed. The whitewash was dingy and had fallen off in places. There was a rusty grate, an old iron bedstead, and a hard bed covered with a faded coverlet. Some pieces of furniture, too much worn to be used downstairs, had been sent off. Under the skylight in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, there stood an old battered red footstool. Sarah went to it and sat down. She seldom cried. She did not cry now. She laid Emily across her knees and put her face down upon her and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black head resting on the black draperies, not saying one word, not making one sound, and as she sat in this silence there came a low tap at the door, such a low, humble one that she did not at first hear it and indeed was not roused until the door was timidly pushed open and a poor tear, smeared face appeared. Peeping round was Becky's face, and Becky had been crying furtively for hours and rubbing her eyes with her kitchen apron until she looked strange indeed. Oh, Miss, she said under her breath, might I? Would you allow me just to come in? Sara lifted her head and looked at her. She tried to begin a smile, and somehow she could not. Suddenly, and it was all through the loving mournfulness of Becky's streaming eyes, her face looked more like a child's, not so much too old for her years. She held out her hand and gave a little sob. Oh, Becky, she said. I told you we were just the same. Only two little girls. Just two little girls. You see how true it is. There's no difference now. I'm not a princess anymore. Becky ran to her and caught her hand and hugged it to her breast, kneeling beside her and sobbing with love and pain. Yes, Miss, you are. She cried, and her words were all broken. Whatever happens to you, whatever, you'd be a princess all the same. And nothing couldn't make you nothing different. 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 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, faith k.moore.com click on contact and 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.