Loading summary
Transcript10 lines
- [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.
- [00:49]
Hi, everyone. Welcome back. Wow, that was a bombshell in the last episode, wasn't it? We're going to talk about that. I've got some great questions and we're have a lot to say and we have a lot to read and find out about. Because what is going to happen now with the Indian gentleman now that we know that he's looking for Sara, Right? And he's got a fortune to give her. But will he find her? So now things are getting very real here on Storytime for Grownups. But before we do that, I have a couple of reminders mostly and I have a special announcement. This is a birthday announcement. I would like to wish a very happy birthday to, to Sophia, who will be turning 4 tomorrow on December 9th. And this is very, very special because Sophia and I actually share a birthday. I also was born on December 9, so we are birthday twins, Sophia. And so I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful day tomorrow on your birthday and it's very exciting to be four. So congratulations, Sophia, and happy birthday. Okay, Sophia, so I just have reminders today. There's nothing new to announce, but these are important reminders. So the first is don't forget that there is a prize drawing going on and the prize currently is a membership in the drawing room, our online community at the landed gentry level. That is currently the highest level. And it entitles you to everything that's going on in the drawing room, chatting with all your friends over there and more monthly tea times, monthly voice chats with me and other friends over there in the drawing room. So if you win this time, that's what you'll win. I will announce the winner of that on December 11th, that is this Thursday. So stay tuned for that. And after that there will be one more prize. And I will announce that on December 15th. The way to enter the drawing is to buy a copy of my novel Christmas Carol, that's Carol with a King, using the link in the show notes or you can just find it wherever you want. But there is a link in the show notes, if you would like. And once you've bought that, you can go back into the show notes and click on the link that is clearly labeled there to the instructions for how to enter the drawing. You can also request a signed book plate. That's like a little sticker. I write the name of the person who's getting the book and a little message and I sign it. And then I mail that to you. And you can stick that into the front of your book and turn your book into a signed copy. It's particularly fun if you're giving the book as a gift, but it's also great if you want to just get the book and have a signed copy from me and you can have that. If you buy the book, you don't have to enter anything or win it. You buy a book, get a book plate, but you do have to let me know you want one. And the directions to do that are on that same page. And also on that page are the directions for how to join us for our Victorian Christmas Sing along. So if you missed this, we are singing together as our final Victorian Christmas activity. And the way that we're doing that is by following the directions on the site that is clearly really labeled in the show notes. You click on that link, I'm starting to get people's recordings. So if you want to do it, you will not be alone. I promise. I will not be playing anyone's individual singing voice on the show. It will sound just like a bunch of us singing all together around the piano in our drawing room. So please, seriously, even if you cannot carry a tune, it doesn't matter. The point is to just be a part of this community and make music together. It doesn't matter what it sounds like, I promise. We are not trying to put on a Christmas concert. We are just trying to sing together as part of our Victorian Christmas. So I hope that you'll check out the directions. It's very simple. You can do it. You can email me if anything feels unclear about the directions. I'll be happy to help you. And those recordings are due to me by December 18th, so I need them by December 18th, otherwise I won't be able to put them all together for you and make the final product which you will hear in our final episode, which will be our conclusion episode on December 2022. And the last thing is, make sure that you are subscribed to the show because this Friday, December 12, the trailer for our January book is going to drop into your feed. If you're subscribed. If you're not subscribed, you're going to have to go looking for it and you might miss it. So please make sure you're subscribed while you're in there hitting the subscribe button. Please also give the show five stars. If you've been enjoying it, please give it a five star rating. And if you have a couple of extra seconds, please leave a positive review of all of those things really help people to find the show. When they're just sort of scrolling through their podcast players looking for something, it starts to pop up if it has more ratings and reviews. So if you could please do that, that would be a wonderful way to help the show. And if you're looking for other ways to help the show, you can buy my book, you can make a donation, there's a link in the show notes to do that, and you can do some Christmas shopping in the merch store. So those are all wonderful ways to help the show. And tell a friend. That's the best way. Tell a friend. Get more people to listen. The more the merrier. And I hope that we have lots more people listening in January. I'm really excited for you to find out the book and I think you're going to have some questions, so we're going to talk about that as well once the trailer drops. So I'm really looking forward to your reactions. Don't forget to write in to me when you hear what book it is. Okay, so last time we read chapters 11 and 12. Today we're reading two chapters again, so we're reading chapters 13 and 14. So let's first remind ourselves of what happened last time. Here is the recap. Alright, so where we left off. One day when Sara is looking out of her skylight, a man appears at the skylight next door. He's an Indian servant and he's holding a little monkey who then escapes and runs into Sara's room. Sara speaks to the man in his own language and he asks to come over to get the monkey. He's very kind and very respectful and he catches the monkey and he says that the monkey belongs to the Indian gentleman who is very ill. Sara sees that the servant notices how bare and dilapidated her room is, but he doesn't say anything and he just goes back to his own house. Things are getting harder for Sara and it's getting colder, so she consoles herself by continuing to think that she is a princess. Down in the kitchen she learns that the Indian gentleman next door is a man who became ill after thinking he lost all his money in diamond mines just like Sara's father did. Sara takes a liking to the Indian gentleman and wishes she could help him to feel less sad. Later, we learn that in fact, the Indian gentleman is actually the friend who Sara's father gave all of his fortune to to invest in the diamond mines. His name is Mr. Carrisford, and he's been searching all this time for Sara because the money wasn't actually lost. And he wants to give it to her, but he doesn't know Sara's first name and he thinks that she's at a school in Paris rather than in London. And it's torturing him that he can't find the child because he's wracked with guilt about Zara's father losing his money and then dying. We also learn that Mr. Carmichael, the father of the large family, is trying to help him to find the lost girl. All right, I'm going to read two questions today. The first one comes from Karen Lee. Karen writes, I read A Little Princess when I was a girl, and since that was so long ago, I wasn't sure if I completely remembered the story. As we progress through the story and I recall the plot, and it's getting really good now, I'm realizing how this story impacted me as a child. My understanding is enhanced by your recent discussions about fairy tales and how their basic purpose was to teach morals and character. As I listen to the story, I'm aware of its lessons that I absorbed as a child and again as an adult. For instance, Sara's decision to respond to difficulty and mistreatment with strength, resolve and kindness rather than self pity and anger makes these character traits tangible and shows us how we might live out these values. I especially appreciated the self control that Sara exhibited in the way she responded to Ms. Minchin after she balked Sara's ears. Honestly, I'm not sure I would have responded so well. And this other one comes from Kelly. Kelly writes, after the last session, I thought the sick man would be associated with Sara's father and she would be restored to having money. Today's reading makes me more certain. Hmm. Okay. So, yes, a lot was revealed in the last couple of chapters, and I think it sort of stuck. Sets the book on a new trajectory. Right before I was saying that the chapter where Sara learns that her father is dead and she'll have to live in the garret and all this, that was kind of where we learn what sort of book we're in. Right. We're not in a book about rich Little girls at boarding school, making friends. We are in a Cinderella story, essentially. But now we get another sort of bend in the road, another course correction in the trajectory of this narrative. Because remember, if this is Cinderella, then something's going to have to happen to get Cinderella or Sara out of this situation. Cinderella is the story of a girl who is highborn, right? Born, wealthy and cared for and loved, who is brought low and then raised up again, right? Now, of course, this isn't Cinderella. This is a little princess. And things may not work out in this book the way that they do in the various versions of Cinderella that we are most familiar with. But if this book were to continue to be a Cinderella story, then what would it need? It would need some kind of reversal of fortune, or I guess a re reversal of fortune, because Sarah had already one reversal when she became poor. But if she's Cinderella, then she needs to return to her former state. And at the end of the last chapter, as Kelly points out in her letter, we learned that the Indian gentleman is actually desperately trying to do that for her, right? But of course, he doesn't know where she is or how to find her. And that's the drama of the narrative. Now, will he realize that that Sara is the girl he's looking for and be able to give her the fortune that is rightfully hers? Or will he never learn where she is, since he seems to think that she was sent to a school in France and not in England? And then the other question is, even if he does find her and is able to give her the money, will he or will anyone else be able to give Sara what she actually wants and needs, which is love, Right? Remember when the little boy gave Sara the sixpence? The hard thing about that was that it wasn't actually what she needed. She wanted to love him and be loved by him and be a part of this big, beautiful family that he comes from. But all he had to offer her was his money. So will that be the same with the Indian gentleman? Will he give her all this money so that she's provided for? But will she still have no family to care for her and love her? Right. So how will her Cinderella story end? Essentially, now we have a bit of an inkling, but we still don't have any details at all. And we don't know if it'll work out or if it'll be the satisfying conclusion that we're hoping for. But I think that Karen is right to bring up Sara's princess qualities again here, because Sara also brings them up for us again. And she reminds us that she's just like Cinderella. For a while there, it seemed like she was kind of losing hope, losing faith in her ability to be a princess and the ability for her pretends to help make things better. But in the last couple of chapters, we see her kind of clinging on to that sense of herself as a princess. And like Karen says, we see. See how that sense of herself really offers us, the reader, a picture of what it means to be mentally strong, to live by your principles and all of this. I think Sara's situation now is sort of precarious. She's balancing right on the edge of hitting rock bottom. She's still clinging to her princessness, still using it to deal with Ms. Minchin and the other girls, but she's also having these moments of despair, these moments of feeling like a. All the pretending in the world can't stop her from being a totally friendless, cold, hungry little girl. But it's Sara who reminds us that she's Cinderella, even though she doesn't say that in as many words. She remembers when she encounters Ram Dass, this Indian servant, right? She remembers that she used to be a literal princess, or at least a very wealthy little girl. Here is what it says. It seemed a strange thing to remember that she, the drudge whom the cook had said insulting things to an hour ago, had only a few years ago been surrounded by people who all treated her as Ram Dass had treated her, who salaamed when she went by, whose foreheads almost touched the ground when she spoke to them, who were her servants and her slaves. Okay, so that's Cinderella, right? A girl who used to be a kind of literal princess, or at least a rich little girl who falls so low that she's now a kind of kitchen drudge. So I think, and this is just my opinion, but I think that Burnett is sort of reminding us here that Sara is Cinderella, because the next chapter is essentially there to set up the fact that if it can all work out somehow, the ending of the Cinderella story is sort of there on the horizon. You know, we've only got three more episodes after this one, plus the conclusion episode on the 22nd. So we're actually starting to enter the final stretch of the story. So I think Burnett is telling us here, remember, Sara is Cinderella, so start thinking about how a Cinderella story ends, right? And she also gives us all this stuff that Karin was talking about about the ways in which Sara has never stopped being a princess, even in rags, which is exactly what the Story of Cinderella is about. You know, I talked a lot about this over the summer, and I talk about it in my book, Saving Cinderella as well. But the whole idea of the Cinderella story, the whole concept of the princess who becomes a drudge but is still a princess on the inside and then is transformed via magic into a princess again, it's all. All about being a fairy tale princess, about being a princess on the inside, no matter what, right? The beautiful ball gown that Cinderella gets in the fairy tale version, it represents Cinderella's inner beauty made manifest on the outside. It's not a story about a girl who gets a pretty dress. It's a story about a girl who stays true to herself no matter what and is rewarded by having her inner self, that inner goodness made manifest on the outside for. For all to see. So in the last couple of chapters, that inner goodness, that princessness, is on display to us, the reader, even though the people around Sara can't see it. Here's what Sara if I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold. But it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it. I mean, that's basically the story of Cinderella in a nutshell, right? And then we get this further explanation of what it means to be a fairy tale princess. Here's another quote. It says, while the thought held possession of her, she could not be made rude and malicious by the rudeness and malice of those about her. Meaning, while she thinks of herself as a princess, even in rags and tatters, she will maintain those good qualities that Karen was talking about, no matter what happens, which is exactly what Cinderella does as well. Okay, so at this point in the story, we've got our Cinderella being very much our Cinderella, right? Acting exactly the way we'd expect our Cinderella to act. And as Kelly pointed out, we've got at least a sort of hope that there might be a rescue at the end of all of this. We've got Ram Dass, who is a really interesting character, I think, because in a way, he is a bit like Sara. He's a servant. He has to do whatever he's told and bow and be super respectful and all of this. But he's also very clever and quick to understand things. He doesn't seem to be a sort of uneducated, but lovable, underservant kind of like Becky. He seems to be a highly intelligent, observant person who is Also completely subservient to the people around him, which is a lot like Sara. Listen to this quote. This is from when Ram Dass comes into Sara's room to get the monkey back, right? It says she had seen that his quick native eyes had taken in at a glance all the bare shabbiness of the room. But he spoke to her as if he were speaking to the little daughter of a raja and pretended that he observed nothing. So Ram Dass sees what poverty Sara is living in, but he treats her like a princess. So there's something about Ram Dass that allows him to see what Sara really is. A princess in disguise. Somehow he sees that Sara is both a poor drudge and someone who deserves his complete and utter respect. So in the same way that Sara is protecting. Pens have a kind of magic because they change people's lives. It seems like Ram Dass may have a kind of magic about him too. Not a real magic, but a sort of perceptiveness that's almost like magic that allows him to see past Sara's exterior into her princess ness within. Just like Becky does and just like Ermengarde does, although they knew her before. So what Ram Dass is doing is sort of even more impressive in a way. So we've got Ram Dass as someone who might potentially help Sara. And we've got the Indian gentleman who, if we'd thought about him at all before this, we would have said was a bad guy, right? In the sense that he took all of Sara's father's money and then ran away when things went wrong. But now we're learning that actually he was delirious with some sort of horrible fever. And that when he got better, Captain Crew was already dead. And he's now trying to make amends and it's eating him up inside. So actually we can feel that he is a good guy now, I think, not a bad guy. And he's desperate to find Sarah. And what's interesting is without even knowing who he is, Sarah has taken a liking to him and has associated him with her father, right? She stands at his window and she says, here is a quote. I wish you had a little misses who could pet you as I used to pet Papa when he had a headache. I should like to be your little misses myself. Poor dear. Good night. Good night. God bless you. Okay, so Sara is wishing that she could love the Indian gentleman. And the Indian gentleman is wanting to give Sara money. It's the same issue of the sixpence again, right? But the question is, will the Indian Gentleman be able to give Sara more than money? Or will she have to look somewhere else for the love that she craves? And will the Indian Gentleman even find her at all? Right? Well, there is only one way to find out and that is to keep reading. So we're going to do that. Don't forget to Write in. It's faith k.moore.com Click on Contact or scroll into the show notes and click the link that's there. Kids, you can write in too. Just let me know how old you are and please get in your singing recordings. I really, really am excited about this. So don't be shy, don't be afraid, just do it. No one will hear your individual voice, so get those to me by December 18th please. And check out all the other links in the show notes. There's lots going on there, so click the links. And don't forget to buy my book and enter the drawings and get a book plate and everything. I would love to send those to you and I would love to give you a prize. So check out the show notes. All right, let's get started with chapters 13 and 14 of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It's story Time.
- [19:51]
Chapter 13:1 of the populace the winter was a wretched one. There were days on which Sarah tramped through snow when she went on her errands. There were worse days when the snow melted and combined itself with mud to form slush. There were others when the fog was so thick that the lamps in the street were lighted all day and London looked as it had looked the afternoon several years ago when the cab had driven through the thoroughfares with Sarah tucked up on its seat, leaning against her father's shoulder. On such days, the windows of the house of the large family always looked delightfully cosy and alluring, and the study in which the Indian Gentleman sat glowed with warmth and rich color. But the attic was dismal beyond words. There were no longer sunsets or sunrises to look at, and scarcely ever any stars, it seemed to Sara. The clouds hung low over the skylight and were either gray or mud color or dropping heavy rain at 4 o' clock in the afternoon. Even when there was no special fog, the daylight was at an end. If it was necessary to go to her attic for anything, Sara was obliged to light a candle. The women in the kitchen were depressed, and that made them more ill tempered than ever. Becky was driven like a little slave. Twa' n't for you, Miss, she said hoarsely to sorrow one night when she had crept into the attic. Twarn't for you and the Bastille and being the prisoner in the next cell I should die. That there does seem real now, doesn't it? The missus is more like the head jailer every day she lives. I can just see them big keys. You say she carries the cook? She's like one of the under jailers. Tell me some more, please, Miss. Tell me about the subterranean passages we've dug under the walls. Okay, meaning the subterranean or underground passages. Obviously they haven't actually dug any passages, but they're pretending to be prisoners and that gets them through these terrible days. I'll tell you something. Warmer shivered Sara. Get your coverlet and wrap it round you, and I'll get mine, and we'll huddle close together on the bed and I'll tell you about the tropical forest where the Indian gentleman's monkey used to live. When I see him sitting on the table near the window and looking out into the street with that mournful expression, I always feel sure he is thinking about the tropical forest where he used to swing by his tail from cocoanut trees. I wonder who caught him, and if he left a family behind who had depended on him for cocoanuts. That is warmer, Miss, said Becky gratefully. But some ways even the Bastille is sort of heating when you gets to telling about it. That's because it makes you think of something else, said Sara, wrapping the coverlet round her until only her small dark face was to be seen looking out of it. I've noticed this. What you have to do with your mind when your body is miserable is to make it think of something else. Can you do it, miss? Faltered Becky, regarding her with admiring eyes. Sara knitted her brows a moment. Sometimes I can and sometimes I can't, she said stoutly. But when I can, I'm all right. And what I believe is that we always could if we practiced enough. I've been practicing a good deal lately, and it's beginning to be easier than it used to be. When things are horrible, just horrible, I think as hard as ever I can of being a princess. I say to myself, I am a princess, and I am a fairy one, and because I am a fairy, nothing can hurt me or make me uncomfortable. You don't know how it makes you forget with a laugh. She had many opportunities of making her mind think of something else, and many opportunities of proving to herself whether or not she was a princess. But one of the strongest tests she was ever put to came on a certain dreadful Day, which she often thought afterward would never quite fade out of her memory, even in the years to come. For several days it had rained continuously. The streets were chilly and sloppy and full of dreary cold mist. There was mud everywhere, sticky London mud, and over everything the pall of drizzle and fog. Of course there were several long and tiresome errands to be done. There always were on days like this. And Sara was sent out again and again until her shabby clothes were damp through the absurd. Old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and absurd than ever. And her down trodden shoes were so wet that they could not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner because Miss Minchin had chosen to punish her. She was so cold and hungry and tired that her face began to have a pinched look. And now and then some kind hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her with sudden sympathy. But she did not know that. 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. Suppose I had dry clothes on, she thought. Suppose I had good shoes and a long thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And suppose, suppose just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot buns, I should find a 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. Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sarah. She had to cross the street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud was dreadful. She almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not save herself much. Only in picking her way she had to look down at her feet and the mud. And in looking down, just as she reached the pavement, 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. In one second it was in her cold little red and blue hand. Oh, she gasped. It's true, it's true. 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 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. Currants are kind of like little raisins. It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds, the shock and the sight of the buns and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up through the baker's cellar window. She knew she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. It had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was completely lost in the stream of passing people who crowded and jostled each other all day long. But I'll go and ask the baker woman if she has lost anything, she said to herself, rather faintly. So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step. As she did so she saw something that made her stop. It was a little figure, more forlorn even than herself. A little figure which was not much more than a bundle of rags from which small, bare, red, muddy feet peeped out only because the rags with which their owner was trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared a shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face with big, hollow, hungry eyes. Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a sudden sympathy. This, she said to herself with a little sigh, is one of the populace, and she is hungrier than I am. The child this one of the populace stared up at Sarah and shuffled herself aside a little so as to give her room to pass. She was used to being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman chanced to see her he would tell her to move on. Sara clutched her little fourpenny piece and hesitated for a few seconds. Then she spoke to her. Are you hungry? She asked. The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. Ain't I jist? She said in a hoarse voice. Jest, ain't I? Haven't you had any dinner? Said Sara.
- [29:31]
No dinner. More hoarsely still and with more shuffling. Nor yet no breakfast. Nor yet no supper. No nuffin.
- [29:44]
Since when? Asked Sara. Dunno. Never got nothing today. Nowhere I've axed an axed.
- [29:55]
Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queer little thoughts were at work in her brain and she was talking to herself, though she was sick at heart. If I'm a princess, she was saying, 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 and hungrier than themselves, they always shared. Buns are a penny each. If it had been a sixpence I could have eaten six. It won't be enough for either of us, but it will be better than nothing. Wait a minute, she said to the beggar child. She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled deliciously. The woman was just going to put some more hot buns into the window. If you please, said Sarah. Have you lost fourpence? A silver fourpence? And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. The woman looked at it and then at her, at her intense little face and draggled once fine clothes. Bless us. No, she answered. Did you find it? Yes, said Sara, in the cutter. Keep it then, said the woman. It may have been there for a week and goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out. I know that, said Zara, but I thought I would ask you. Not many would, said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and good natured all at once. Do you want to buy something? She asked as she saw Sara glance at the buns. Four buns, if you please, said Sara. Those at a penny each. The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sarah noticed that she put in six. I said four if you please, she explained. I have only fourpence. I'll throw in two for make weight, said the woman with her good natured look. I dare say you can eat them sometime. Aren't you hungry? A mist rose before Sarah's eyes. Yes, she answered. I am very hungry and I am much obliged to you for your kindness. And she was going to add, there is a child outside who is hungrier than I am. But just at that moment two or three customers came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank the woman again and go out. The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step. She looked frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring straight before her with a stupid look of suffering, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the back of her roughened black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her lids. She was muttering to herself. Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had already warmed her own cold hands a little. See, she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap. This is nice and hot. Eat it and you will not feel so hungry. The child started and stared up at her as if such sudden, amazing good luck almost frightened her. Then she snatched up the bun and began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. Oh my, oh my, Sara heard her say hoarsely in wild delight. Oh, my. Sara took out three more buns and put them down. The sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful. She is hungrier than I am, she said to herself. She's starving. But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. I'm not starving, she said, and she put down the fifth. The little ravening London savage was still snatching and devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she had ever been taught politeness, which she had not. She was only a poor little wild animal. Goodbye, said Sara. When she reached the other side of the street, she looked back. The child had a bun in each hand and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch her. Sarah gave her a little nod, and the child, after another stare, a curious, lingering stare, jerked her shaggy head in response, and until sorrow was out of sight, she did not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun. At that moment the baker woman looked out of her shop window. Well, I never. She exclaimed. If that young un hasn't given her buns to a beggar child, it wasn't because she didn't want them either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she did it for. She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke to the beggar child. Who gave you those buns? She asked her. The child nodded her head towards Sara's vanishing figure. What did she say? Inquired the woman. Asked me if I was hungry, replied the hoarse voice. And what did you say? Said I was jest. And then she came in and got the buns and gave them to you, did she? The child nodded. How many? Five. The woman thought it over, left just one for herself, she said in a low voice, and she could have eaten the whole six. I saw it in her eyes. She looked after the little draggled, faraway figure and felt more disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a day. I wish she hadn't gone so quick, she said. I'm blessed if she shouldn't have had a dozen. Then she turned to the child. Are you hungry yet? She said. I'm always hungry, was the answer, but tain't so bad as it was. Come in here, said the woman, and she held open the shop door. The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full of bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to happen. She did not care even. Get yourself warm, said the woman, pointing to a fire in the tiny back room. And look here, when you are hard up for a bit of bread, you can come in here and ask for it. I'm blessed if I won't give it to you for that young one's sake. Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. At all events, it was very hot and it was better than nothing. As she walked along, she broke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer. Suppose it was a magic bunch, she said, and a bite was as much as a whole dinner. I should be overeating myself if I went on like this. It was dark when she reached the square where the select seminary was situated. The lights in the houses were all lighted. The blinds were not yet drawn in the windows of the room where she nearly always caught glimpses of members of the large family. Frequently at this hour she could see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency, sitting in a big chair with a small swarm round him, talking, laughing, perching on the arms of his seat or on his knees, or leaning against them. This evening the swarm was about him, but he was not seated. On the contrary, there was a good deal of excitement going on. It was evident that a journey was to be taken, and it was Mr. Montmorency who was to take it. A brougham stood before the door, and a big portmanteau had been strapped upon it. A portmanteau is a kind of suitcase. The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on to their father. The pretty rosy mother was standing near him, talking as if she was asking final questions. Sara paused a moment to see the little ones lifted up and kissed, and the bigger ones bent over and kissed also. I wonder if he will stay away long, she thought. The portmanteau is rather big. Oh dear, how they will miss him. I shall miss him myself, even though he doesn't know I'm alive. When the door opened, she moved away, remembering the sixpence, meaning remembering when the little boy thought she was a beggar. So she doesn't want to be seen as a beggar now. But she saw the traveler come out and stand against the background of the warmly lighted hall, the older children still hovering about him. Will Moscow be covered with snow? Said the little girl, Janet. Will there be ice everywhere? Shall you drive in a drosky? Cried another. A drosky is a kind of carriage that is used mostly in Russia. Shall you see the Tsar? I will write and tell you all about it, he answered, laughing. And I will send you pictures of muziks and things. So Muzik is a Russian peasant. Run into the house. It's a hideous damp night. I would rather stay with you than go to Moscow. Good night. Good night, duckies. God bless you. And he ran down the steps and jumped into the brown if you find the little girl, give her our love. Shouted Guy Clarence, jumping up and down on the doormat. Then they went in and shut the door. Did you see? Said Janet to Nora as they went back to the room. The little girl, who is not a beggar, was passing. She looked all cold and wet, and I saw her turn her head over her shoulder and look at us. Mama says her clothes always look as if they had been given her by someone who is quite rich, someone who only let her have them because they were too shabby to wear. The people at the school always send her out on errands on the horridest days and nights there are. Sara crossed the square to Ms. Minchin's area steps, feeling faint and shaky. I wonder who the little girl is, she thought, the little girl he is going to look for. And she went down the area steps, lugging her basket and finding it very heavy indeed as the father of the large family drove quickly on his way to the station to take the train which was to carry him to Moscow, where he was to make his best efforts to search for the lost little daughter of Captain Crewe.
- [40:30]
Chapter 14 what Melchizedek heard and Saw on this very afternoon, while Sarah was out, a strange thing happened in the attic. Only Melchizedek saw and heard it, and he was so much alarmed and mystified that he scuttled back to his hole and hid there, and really quaked and trembled as he peeped out furtively and with great caution to watch what was going on. The attic had been very still all the day after Sarah had left it in the early morning the stillness had only been broken by the pattering of the rain upon the slates and the skylight. Melchisedec had in fact found it rather dull, and when the rain ceased to patter and perfect silence reigned, he decided to come out and reconnoiter, though experience taught him that sorrow would not return. For some time he had been rambling and sniffing about, and had just found a totally unexpected and unexplained crumb left from his last meal, when his attention was attracted by a sound on the roof. He stopped to listen with a palpitating heart. The sound suggested that something was moving on the roof. It was approaching the skylight. It reached the skylight. The skylight was being mysteriously opened. A dark face peered into the attic. Then another face appeared behind it, and both looked in with signs of caution and interesting. Two men were outside on the roof and were making silent preparations to enter through the skylight itself. One was Ram Dass, and the other was a young man who was the Indian gentleman's secretary. But of course Melchizedek did not know this. He only knew that the men were invading the silence and privacy of the attic. And as the one with the dark face let himself down through the aperture with such lightness and dexterity that he did not make the slightest sound, the Melchizedek turned tail and fled precipitately back to his hole. Precipitately means moving quickly without thinking. So he's rushing back to his hole to get away from these men. He was frightened to death. He had ceased to be timid with Sara and knew she would never throw anything but crumbs and would never make any sound other than the soft, low, coaxing, whistling. But strange men were dangerous things to remain near. He lay close and flat near the entrance of his home, just managing to peep through the crack with a bright, alarmed eye. How much he understood of the talk he heard, I am not in the least able to say. But even if he had understood it all, he would probably have remained greatly mystified. The secretary, who was light and young, slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as Ram Dass had done, and he caught a last glimpse of Melchizedek's vanishing tail. Was that a rat? He asked Ram Dass in a whisper. Yes, Arat sahib answered Ram Dass, also whispering. There are many in the walls.
- [43:35]
Exclaimed the young man. It is a wonder the child is not terrified of them. Ram Dass made a gesture with his hands. He also smiled respectfully. He was in this place as the intimate exponent of Sarah, though she had only spoken to him once. The child is the little friend of all things, Sahib, he answered. She is not as other children I see her when she does not see me. I slip across the slates and look at her many nights to see that she is safe. I watch her from my window when she does not know that I am near. She stands on the table there and looks out at the sky as if it spoke to her. The sparrows come at her call the rat she has fed and tamed in her loneliness. The poor slave of the house comes to her for comfort. There is a little child who comes to her in secret. There is one older who worships her and would listen to her forever if she might. This I have seen when I have crept across the roof by the mistress of the house, who is an evil woman. She is treated like a pariah, but she has the bearing of a child who is of the blood of kings. You seem to know a great deal about her, the secretary said. All her life, each day. I know, answered Ram Dass. Her going out I know. And her coming in, her sadness and her poor joys, her coldness and her hunger. I know when she is alone until midnight, learning from her books. I know when her secret friends steal to her, and she is happier as children can be even in the midst of poverty, because they come and she may laugh and talk with them in whispers. If she were ill, I should know, and I would come and serve her if it might be done. You are sure no one comes near this place but herself, and that she will not return and surprise us. She would be frightened if she found us here, and the Sahib Carisford's plan would be spoiled. Ram Dass crossed noiselessly to the door and stood close to it. None mount here but herself, sahib, he said. She has gone out with her basket and may be gone for hours. If I stand here, I can hear any step before it reaches the last flight of the stairs. The secretary took a pencil and a tablet from his breast pocket. Keep your ears open, he said, and he began to walk slowly and softly round the miserable little room, making rapid notes on his tablet as he looked at things. First he went to the narrow bed. He pressed his hand upon the mattress and uttered an exclamation as hard as stone. He said, that will have to be altered some day when she is out. A special journey can be made to bring it across. It cannot be done to night. He lifted the covering and examined the one thin pillow. Coverlet, dingy and worn blanket, thin sheets, patched and ragged. He said, what a bed for a child to sleep in. And in a house which calls itself respectable, there has not been a fire in that grate for many a day. Glancing at the rusty fireplace. Never since I have seen it, said Ram Dass. The mistress of the house is not one who remembers that another than herself may be cold. The secretary was writing quickly on his tablet. He looked up from it as he tore off a leaf and slipped it into his breast pocket. It is a strange way of doing a thing, he said. Who planned it? Ram Dass made a modestly apologetic obeisance. It is true that the first thought was mine, sahib, he said, though it was not but a fancy. I am fond of this child. We are both lonely. It is her way to relate her visions to her secret friends. Being sad, one night I lay close to the open skylight and listened. The vision she related told what this miserable room might be if it had comforts in it. She seemed to see it as she talked, and she grew cheered and warm as she spoke. Then she came to this fancy, and the next day, the sahib, being ill and wretched, I told him of the thing to amuse him. It seemed then but a dream. But it pleased the sahib to hear of the child's doings, gave him entertainment. He became interested in her and asked questions. At last he began to please himself with the thought of making her visions real. Things okay. So Ram Dass has been telling Mr. Carrisford, the Indian gentleman, about Sara, and Mr. Carrisford wants to help her. You think that it can be done while she sleeps? Suppose she awakened, suggested the secretary, and it was evident that whatsoever the plan referred to was, it had caught and pleased his fancy as well as the sahib Carisford. I can move as if my feet were of velvet, Ram Dass replied, and children sleep soundly, even the unhappy ones. I could have entered this room in the night many times and without causing her to turn upon her pillow. If the other bearers pass 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. He smiled as if his heart warmed under his white robe, and the secretary smiled back at him. It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights, he said. Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does not belong to London Fogs. They did not remain very long, to the great relief of Melchizedek, who, as he probably did not comprehend their conversation, felt their movements and whispers ominous. The young secretary seemed interested in everything he wrote down things about the floor, the fireplace, the broken footstool, the old table, the walls, which last he touched with his hand again and again, seeming much pleased when he found that a number of old nails had been driven in various places. You can hang things on them, he said. Ram Dass smiled mysteriously. Yesterday, when she was out, he said, I entered, bringing with me small sharp nails which can be pressed into the wall without blows from a hammer. I placed many in the plaster where I may need them. They are ready. The Indian gentleman's secretary stood still and looked round him as he thrust his tablets back into his pocket. I think I've made notes enough. We can go now, he said. The Sahib Carrisford has a warm heart. It is a thousand pities that he has not found the lost child.
- [50:39]
If he should find her, his strength would be restored to him, said Ram Dass. His God may lead her to him yet. Then they slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as they had entered it, and after he was quite sure they had gone, Melchisedec was greatly relieved, and in the course of a few minutes felt it safe to emerge from his hole again and scuffle about in the hope that even such alarming human beings as these might have chance to carry crumbs in their pockets and drop one or two of them.
- [51:17]
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 bookplate 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 bookplate 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.