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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. Hi everyone. Welcome back. Did you catch the trailer? Did you? Listen, if you didn't pause me right now. Scroll into your podcast player, find the trailer for our January book. Listen, it's only like a minute or so. Listen to it and then come back. Okay? Are we all on the same page? Have we all listened to the trailer? If so, then I can reveal that our January book is David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. I'm really excited about this and I think I probably owe some of you an explanation because I did say, say at a certain point to a few of you in various emails that we would not ever be reading David Copperfield because it is too long. But I changed my mind and I will talk much more about this when we get into the book and in our intro episode and everything. But I just decided that if we are going to read a Dickens novel, obviously we've already read a Dickens novella. We've read A Christmas Carol Last Christmas Time, but we have to read a Dickens novel. He is one of the greats and it's if we're going to read the classics here on Storytime for Grown Ups, we've got to read some Dickens. But I was going to read you one of his shorter novels because they're shorter. But then I just decided, no, David Copperfield is the best of his novels. And I know that some people might disagree with me, but that's what I think. David Copperfield and then after that, Bleak House are his best novels. So let's just do that. Let's read the best Dickens novel instead of a lesser one because it's shorter. So we're going to read it. It's going to be long. It's going to take us a long time to read, but I think it's going to be worth it. And I'll talk to you about exactly how it's all going to work and how long it will be and all of that and what this book even really is and what to expect. I'll talk to you all about that. In the intro episode for the January book, which will happen on January 5th. It's a Monday, so we'll finish A little princess on December 18th. That's when we'll read the last chapter. Then we'll have our conclusion episode for A Little Princess, which will be December 22nd. And then we'll take a two week break, so a short break for Christmas and the New Year. And then we'll come back on January 5th to begin David Copperfield. And as I say in the intro episode, I'll talk much more about why I selected this book, how long it's going to take us, what it's all about, and hopefully that will answer all the questions that you might have. And I do apologize to those of you who didn't guess David Copperfield, because I had told you in the past that we wouldn't read it. I changed my mind. I'm allowed to do that. It's my show, so I changed my mind. We are going to read David Copperfield and I'm really, really thrilled and excited about it because it's a great, great book. So I'm glad that I changed my mind and I hope you are too. I would love to hear from you. Keep writing in. I'm already starting to get some reactions based on the trailer, but keep writing in to me to let me know what you think about our January selection. But that's what it is and I'm thrilled that it's out in the open now and we can talk more about it as we go along. But we are not there yet. In fact, we very much ensconced in A Little Princess. We have four chapters left. We're going to read two of them today, two of them next time, and then that's it, you guys, the book is over. And I think it is starting to feel like it's over. We're starting to sort of ramp up toward the end. I think we can feel that coming. So we're in just the right place. Before we get into the book, though, I do have a couple of reminders and one announcement. So the announcement is, I would like to tell you now what the final prize is for our prize drawings. We've been having drawings all throughout the Christmas spectacular. You guys have been buying my book, which is amazing. Thank you so much to all of you that have bought it. I'm so excited by how many people have bought the book. Buying the book is how you enter these drawings. I've been so happy and thrilled to be giving things away to you guys for Buying the book. I love that I can give you something for picking up a copy because the book means so much to me and it means so much that you're buying it. So I want to give you something in return. And so I want to tell you what, what the last prize is. So I'm announcing it now. And then the winner of this prize will be announced in the final episode on December 22nd. So this is the prize that's actually been mentioned in the outro, the last part of each episode that plays after the chapters. So you might have noticed it, but it's been there all along. But I will now reveal the final prize is it's a choice. And you will get to choose if you win. So the choice is either I will mail you a signed copy of Of Christmas Carol. So instead of a book plate that you stick in, I will sign the actual book with your name and a message and my signature and mail that to you. Or if you would prefer, because you feel like, oh, well, I already have the book and you sent me the sticker, so I don't need that. I will give you your money back. So it will become like a free book that you got. So you can choose either a signed copy of the book or your money back. So if you win, that's what you'll get and you can let me know what, which option you want to choose. So that's the prize from now until December 22nd. You can enter by buying a copy of my book. There's a link in the show notes to do that. And then following the directions on the Storytime for Grown Ups page, there's a link in the show notes for that as well to let me know that you'd like to enter the drawing. Also, if you want one of those book plates, you can have one. You don't have to enter or win it, you just get it. Buy a book, get a book plate. And the directions for how to do that are, are on that same page as well. And it's clearly marked in the show notes. So that's one thing. Another reminder is just that we are singing together. Our last Victorian Christmas activity is our Christmas sing along. And the directions for how to do that are on that same page. And there's a link in the show notes for that too. And it lets you know how you can participate in our sing along. The deadline for that is December 18th, so that's this Thursday. So you want to do that now if you're hoping to join in. And I will collect all of that I will put it all together and on the 22nd, I will play it for you. It will sound like we are all singing together around our piano in the drawing room of our lovely Victorian house. It's the next best thing. I wish we could all do it for real. I wish we could all get together in a lovely cozy room with a fire and all this and sing some Christmas carols around the piano. Wouldn't that be lovely? But hopefully this will be the next best thing and I hope you'll join in. And again, remember, it doesn't matter if you can't carry a tune or if you feel weird about your singing voice. No one will hear your individual voice. And we want this. It's not a Christmas concert. It's friends singing together. So it doesn't matter how it sounds. So I hope you'll participate in that and get your recordings to me by December 18th. Okay, I think that's all the reminders and announcements that I have for now. So please just make sure you're subscribed to the show. Please, please tap the five stars if you're enjoying it. Leave a positive review if you have a couple of extra seconds and tell your friends. This is a great time to tell your friends because you can tell them what we're reading in January. You can say, hey, I'm listening to this great podcast we're about to start, David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Subscribe to the show. Join. It's going to be really fun. And then you'll have a friend to talk to about this in real life. And that's awesome. So please do tell a friend. The more the merrier. Okay, so last time we read chapter 15, and it was a really exciting chapter. I thought so. Really fun chapter. So we read that. And today we're going to be reading chapters 16 and 17. So first let's just review what happened in chapter 15. Then I've got some questions. We'll chat for a bit, and then we'll read today's chapters. So here is the recap. All right, so where we left off. Sara is so tired and hungry after her day of errands, but when she gets back to the school, she's scolded and she's not given any food except for a crust of bread. So she trudges upstairs to her attic, where she finds Ermengarde. While they're talking, they hear Ms. Minchin scolding Becky for stealing some food. When Becky and Sara know it was really the cook who took it to give to her Boyfriend. This makes Sara so angry that she blurts out to Ermengarde how hungry she is. Ermengarde is stunned, but says that she has a package that came today with lots of delicious food in it. And so she runs off to get it. Sara calls Becky over and they prepare for a feast. They pretend they're in a castle and they're making all sorts of old rubbish into plates and dishes and things. Finally, Ermengarde comes back with the food and they're just about to eat it when Ms. Minchin bursts in because Lavinia has told on Ermengarde and Ms. Minchin is here to put a stop to her visits. So she takes away all the food. She says she's going to kick Becky out of the house and give no food to Sara all the next day. And then she sweeps out of the room with Ermengarde. Sara is so hungry and tired and angry that she just falls asleep. While she's asleep, Ram Dass comes in. And when she wakes up in the middle of the night, the room has been completely transformed. She's under warm blankets, there's a warm dressing gown, there's a fire in the grate and food on the table. And at first she thinks it's a dream, but finally she realizes it is real. She finds a stack of books and one of them has a message inside that says it's from a friend. And she bursts into tears because she is so happy to know that she has a friend. So then she calls Becky into the room to share the magic with her. And that's where we left them. Okay, I'm gonna read two comments today. The first one comes from Anne. Anne. Omg. What a rollercoaster of emotions this chapter was. Just when it was sweet. The most horrid misminchin enters the picture. I just wanted to go into the pages and slap the devil out of her. I had to remind myself that Ermengarde is just a child. When I found myself thinking, how can you not stop? See that your friend is starving? Then the sweet kindness of the girls to one another and help from the neighbor. I am hopeful that sorrow will be helped since he overheard the terrible mismention. I can't wait for Monday. Okay, well, we're here. We made it. It is Monday, so we're gonna keep reading. This next one though is from Noel, who is nine years old and she says, what is going to happen next? Okay, so yes, exactly, Noelle, what is going to happen next? Because finally, our Cinderella's fairy godmother has shown up, right? Ram Dass and Mr. Carisford are the fairy godmother of this Cinderella story. But it's not over yet, right? In fact, the transformation isn't actually complete. I mean, what is it that the fairy godmother does in a Cinderella story? Whenever I ask these rhetorical questions, I always wish you guys were actually here with me and could raise your hands or something, and then we could discuss it, but you're not here. So both parts. So what is it that the fairy godmother does in a Cinderella story? Well, she allows Cinderella's inner self, her inner fairy tale princess, to become visible on the outside for everyone to see. It's not just a pretty dress that Cinderella gets. It's the ability to show on the outside her inner beauty. That's why the prince in the original Cinderella story falls in love with Cinderella at first sight, because he knows her to be who she is, a fairy tale princess with all the qualities that come with that, like kindness and virtue and courage and everything else. So the fairy godmother transforms Cinderella into a princess on the outside so that everyone around her can see what has always been true, which is that she's a princess on the inside and always has been, even in rags. Okay, so here comes Sara's fairy godmother, or fairy godfathers, or whatever we want to call them. But here comes ram Dass and Mr. Carisford, turning Sara's bare attic room into a room fit for a princess. And when Sara puts on that bathrobe that they've left her and she goes next door to wake up Becky. Listen to what it says. It says, when Becky wakened and she sat upright, staring aghast, her face still smudged with traces of tears, and beside her stood a little figure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson silk. The face she saw was a shining, wonderful thing. The princess Sara, as she remembered her, stood at her very bedside holding a candle in her hand. So for Becky, who is the only other person who has seen Sara so far after this transformation has happened for her, Sara suddenly looks the way she used to look, Right? Becky has always seen Sara's princessness, But now she can see that Sara looks like a princess again, too. That's the magic that fairy godmothers in Cinderella stories can make. But it's not just about how things look right. All along, we've had this back and forth between cold, hard reality and the world of make believe, the world of fairy tales. And we still have that here in this thing that Ram Dass has Done. Because this quote unquote magic that he's created for Sarah is both transforming her into a princess on the outside, but it's also giving her the physical things she needs in order to just survive, like warmth and clothes and beauty and all of this. And really, over and over and over again, Burnett is playing with this idea, this back and forth between reality and make believe, which goes back to what Anne was saying in her letter about Ermengarde. Right? On the one hand, how is it possible that Ermengarde couldn't tell that Sara was so hungry and tired hold in all of this? But on the other hand, Sara's ability to pretend is so advanced, so skilled, that she was able to hide all this from Ermengarde out of pride and out of a sense that if she's a princess, she shouldn't complain. But what I love about chapter 15 is that it's almost a Cinderella story in miniature. It's almost the whole thing in a nutshell in just this chapter. I mean, it begins with Cinderella. Sara being treated as much like Cinderella as we've ever seen her be treated yet, right? She comes back from all her errands cold and wet and hungry, after giving most of her buns to the beggar girl. And when she asks the cook if she can have something to eat, here is what the cook says. This is the quote. It says tea's over and done with, was the answer. Did you expect me to keep it hot for you? Sara stood silent for a second. I had no dinner, she said next, and her voice was quite low. She made it low because she was afraid it would tremble. There's some bread in the pantry, said the cook. That's all you'll get at this time of day. Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. So that's pretty clear, right? Sara is Cinderella. She lives in an attic garret and she has only crusts of bread to eat, even though she's had nothing to eat all day. But, and this is important too, but she continues to act like a princess. She continues pretending she is a princess and she's kind to Ermengarde and she thinks of herself as a hostess to Ermengard, even in her dingy little attic. Later, she's kind to Becky, right? So in this chapter we get the poor put upon Drudge, who is clearly still a princess on the inside, which is basically Cinderella in a nutshell. And we get this attempt from our Cinderella and her friends Ermengarde and Becky. We get this attempt to make magic for themselves. You know, if you've seen the Disney Cinderella movie, I always feel like this is the moment where Cinderella's animal friends try to make her a dress themselves so that she can go to the ball. But then the dress is des by the wicked stepmother and stepsisters. And that's what happens here too, right? Ermengarde remembers that she actually has food she can share with them. And Sara, instead of just like cramming all the food into her face, which is probably what I would have done in this situation, she tries to work her own sort of magic and turn the whole thing into a splendid feast fit for a princess. She tries to turn herself and her friends into princesses with only her ability to pretend. And she does a really good job of it. And it would have worked too. They would have had a lovely feast and felt cheered by their ability to pretend it. And uplifted by the very real food that Ermengarde brought. Except that Ms. Minchin comes and ruins it, just like the stepmother ruins Cinderella's homemade dress in the Disney version. Because I think the point is that while Sara's ability to pretend this feast into existence is truly heroic and truly princess worthy, there is actually something bigger than her, something more powerful and more universal that needs to step in at this point. In the fairy tale versions, that thing is magic, because only magic can allow people to see your inner self made manifest. But here, in this more realistic version of the story, it's a different kind of magic. And that magic is love. The love that Ram Dass has for Sara, the love that Mr. Carrisford feels for all little girls because of his love for the lost little girl who he doesn't know is really Sara. That's the love that is transformative right now. And this love, just like Sara's, pretends it has a way of changing the world. In fact, love is the most magical force there is. And it's, in a way, its own kind of magic. And even though all of the things that Ram Dass has put in the room are amazing and wonderful and things that Sara really, truly needs, the thing that touches Sara the most, the thing that makes her the happiest, is the fact that there is someone out there who cares about her, someone who loved her enough to do this magical thing for her, here is what we're told, right? She's reading the inscription in one of the books, and it says, to the little girl in the attic from a friend. And then we're told when she saw that wasn't it a strange thing for her to do? She put her face down upon the page and put burst into tears. I don't know who it is, she said, but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend. That's the thing that Sara has always wanted, right? Not the money, not the little boy's sixpence, but connection, love, people to care about her and for her and to want her around. And suddenly, miraculously and totally mysteriously, to Sara, she has that. So for Sara, this is this thing that Ram Dass has done for her is no different than magic because she doesn't know how it could possibly have happened. So it is both completely real and also completely magical. Both things are entirely true at the same time. And it has done what Cinderella's ballgown does, which is to transform her on the outside back into the princess that she has always been. But of course, once the fairy godmother shows up and transform Cinderella's rags into a ball gown, she actually has to go to the ball. She has to step out into the world arrayed in her princessness and allow the world to see her and acknowledge her. But how can Sara do that? I mean, if she lets Ms. Minchin know that this has happened, Ms. Minchin will probably take all this stuff away from her. Sara is still completely under Ms. Minchin's control. There is no Prince Charming here. There's no one to whisk her away to the castle to be married and become a true princess, right? So how can this thing that has happened to Sara become permanent? How can it be reality? What will Sara's version of going to the ball be? Well, that is what we're going to have to find out. And the only way to do that is to keep reading. So that's what we're going to do now. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faith k.moore.com Click on Contact or you can scroll into the Show Notes. There's a link there to that same contact page. And please do get in touch. Get in touch with all of your questions, your comments, kids. You can get in touch too. Just let me know how old you are. And I would love to hear from you. And keep those comments coming as well about the new book about David Copperfield and your thoughts and reactions to finding out that that's what we'll be reading in January. All right, let's get started with chapters 16 and 17 of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It's story time. Chapter 16, the visitor. Imagine if you can what the rest of the evening was like. How they crouched by the fire, which blazed and leaped and made so much of itself in the little grateful how they removed the covers of the dishes and found rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and sandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both of them. The mug from the washstand was used as Becky's teacup, and the tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea. They were warm and full, fed and happy. And it was just like Sarah that having found her strange good fortune real, she should give herself up to the enjoyment of it to the utmost. She had lived such a life of imaginings that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing that happened and almost to cease in a short time to find it bewildering. I don't know anyone in the world who could have done it, she said. But there has been someone. And here we are sitting by their fire and. And it's true. And whoever it is, wherever they are, I have a friend, Becky. Someone is my friend. It cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing fire and ate the nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind of rapturous awe and looked into each other's eyes with something like doubt. Do you think. Becky faltered once in a whisper. Do you think it could melt away, Miss? Hadn't we better be quick? And she hastily crammed her sandwich into her mouth. If it was only a dream, kitchen manners would be overlooked. No, it won't melt away, said Sara. I am eating this muffin and I can taste it. You never really eat things in dreams. You only think you are going to eat them. Besides, I keep giving myself pinches and I touched a hot piece of coal just now on purpose. The sleepy comfort which at length almost overpowered them, was a heavenly thing. It was the drowsiness of happy, well fed childhood. And they sat in the fire glow and luxuriated in it until Sara found herself turning to look at her transformed bed. There were even blankets enough to share with Becky. The narrow couch in the next attic was more comfortable that night than its occupant had ever dreamed that it could be meaning. Sara shared some of her new blankets and pillows and things with Becky so that Becky could have a comfortable bed too. As she went out of the room, Becky turned upon the threshold and looked about her with devouring eyes. If it ain't here in the morning, miss, she said, it's been here to night anyways. And I Shan't never forget it. She looked at each particular thing as if to commit it to memory. The fire was there, pointing with her finger, and the table was before it and the lamp was there and the light looked rosy red and there was a satin cover on your bed and a warm rug on the floor and everything looked beautiful. And she paused a second and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly. There was soup and sandwiches and muffins. There was, and with this conviction a reality at least. She went away through the mysterious agency which works in schools and among servants. It was quite well known in the morning that Sara Crew was in horrible disgrace, that Ermengarde was under punishment, and that Becky would have been packed out of the house before breakfast, but that a scullery maid could not be dispensed with at once. The servants knew that she was allowed to stay because Miss Minchin could not easily find another creature helpless and humble enough to to work like a bounden slave for so few shillings a week. So Becky won't actually be dismissed because it's hard to find someone who's willing to work as hard as she does for as little pay as she gets. So she's staying on. The elder girls in the schoolroom knew that if Miss Minchin did not send Sara away it was for practical reasons of her own. She's growing so fast and learning such a lot somehow, said Jesse to Lavinia, that she will be given classes soon and Miss Minchin knows she will have to work for nothing. It was rather nasty of you, Laffey, to tell about her having fun in the garret. How did you find out? I got it out of Lottie. She's such a baby. She didn't know she was telling me. There was nothing nasty at all in speaking to Miss Minchin. I felt it my duty priggishly. She was being deceitful and it's ridiculous that she should look so grand and be made so much of in her rags and tatters. What were they doing when Miss Minchin caught them pretending some silly thing? Ermengarde had taken up her hamper to share with Sara and Becky. She never invites us to share things. Not that I care, but it's rather vulgar of her to share with servant girls in attics. I wonder Miss Minchin didn't turn Sara out, even if she does want her for a teacher. If she was turned out, where would she go? Inquired Jessie, a trifle anxiously. How do I know? Snapped Lavinia. She'll look rather queer when she comes into the schoolroom. This morning, I should think, after what's happened. She had no dinner yesterday and she's not going to have any today. Jessie was not as ill natured as she was silly. She picked up her book with a little jerk. Well, I think it's horrid, she said. They've no right to starve her to death. When Sara went into the kitchen that morning, the cook looked askance at her and so did the housemaids, but she passed them hurriedly. She had in fact overslept herself a little, and as Becky had done the same, neither had had time to see the other and each had come downstairs in haste. Sarah went into the scullery. Becky was violently scrubbing a kettle and was actually gurgling a little song in her throat. She looked up with a wildly elated face. It was there when I wakened, miss. The blanket, she whispered excitedly. It was real as it was last night. So was mine, said Sara. It's all there now. All of it. While I was dressing I ate some of the cold things we left. Oh, laws. Oh laws meaning oh my goodness. Becky uttered the exclamation in a sort of rapturous groan and ducked her head over her kettle just in time as the cook came in from the kitchen. Ms. Minchin had expected to see in Sara when she appeared in the schoolroom, very much what Lavinia had expected to see. Sara had always been an annoying puzzle to her because severity never made her cry or look frightened. When she was scolded, she stood still and listened politely with a grave face. When she was punished, she performed her extra tasks or went without her meals, making no complaint or outward sign of rebellion. The very fact that she never made an impudent answer seemed to Miss Minchin a kind of impudence in itself. But after yesterday's deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last night, the prospect of hunger to day, she must surely have broken down. It would be strange indeed if she did not come downstairs with pale cheeks and red eyes and an unhappy, humbled face. Miss Minchin saw her for the first time when she entered the schoolroom to hear the little French class recite its lessons and super, superintend its exercises. And she came in with a springing step, color in her cheeks, and a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth. It was the most astonishing thing Ms. Minchin had ever known. It gave her quite a shock. What was the child made of? What could such a thing mean? She called her at once to her desk. You do not look as if you realize that you are in Disgrace, she said. Are you absolutely hardened? The truth is that when one is still a child, or even if one is a grown up and has been well fed and has slept long and softly and warm, when one has gone to sleep in the midst of a fairy story and has wakened to find it real, one cannot be unhappy or even look as if one were, and one could not, if one tried, keep a glow of joy out of one's eyes. Miss Minchin was almost struck dumb by the look of Sara's eyes when she made her perfectly respectful answer. I beg your pardon, Ms. Minchin, she said. I know that I am in disgrace. Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you had come into a fortune. It is an impertinence. And remember you are to have no food today. Yes, Miss Minchin, sara answered. But as she turned away, her heart leaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. If the magic had not saved me just in time, she thought, how horrible it would have been. She can't be very hungry, whispered Lavinia. Just look at her. Perhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast with a spiteful laugh. She's different from other people, said Jessie, watching Sara with her class. Sometimes I'm a bit frightened of her. Ridiculous thing ejaculated Lavinia. All through the day the light was in Sara's face and the color in her cheek. The servants cast puzzled glances at her and whispered to each other, and Miss Amelia's small blue eyes wore an expression of bewilderment what such an audacious look of well being under august displeasure could mean. She could not understand. It was, however, just like Sara's singular, obstinate way she was probably determined to brave the matter out. One thing Sara had resolved upon as she thought things over. The wonders which had happened must be kept a secret if such a thing were possible. If Ms. Minchin should choose to mount to the attic again, of course all would be discovered, but it did not seem likely that she would do so for some time at least, unless she was led by suspicion. Ermengarde and Lottie would be watched with such strictness that they would not dare to steal out of their beds again. Ermengarde could be told the story and trusted to keep it secret. If Lottie made any discoveries, she could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the magic itself would help to hide its own marvels. But whatever happens, Sara kept saying to herself all day, whatever happens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenly, kind person who is my friend, my friend. If I never know who it is. If I never can even thank them, I shall never feel quite so lonely. Oh, the magic was good to me. If it was possible for weather to be worse than it had been the day before. It was worse this day. Wetter, muddier, colder. There were more errands to be done, the cook was more irritable, and knowing that Sarah was in disgrace, she was more savage. But what does anything matter when one's magic has just proved itself one's friend? Sara's supper of the night before had given her strength. She knew that she should sleep well and warmly, and even though she had naturally begun to be hungry again before evening, she felt that she could bear it until breakfast time on the following day, when her meals would surely be given to her again. It was quite late when she was at last allowed to go upstairs. She had been told to go into the schoolroom and study until 10 o', clock, and she had become interested in her work and remained over her books. Later, when she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before the attic door, it must be confessed that her heart beat rather fast. Of course it might all have been taken away, she whispered, trying to be brave. It might only have been lent to me for just that one awful night. But it was lent to me. I had was real. She pushed the door open and went in. Once inside, she gasped slightly, shut the door, and stood with her back against it, looking from side to side. The magic had been there again. It actually had, and it had done even more than before. The fire was blazing in lovely leaping flames, more merrily than ever. A number of new things had been brought into the attic, which so altered the look of it that if she had not been past doubting, she would have rubbed her eyes upon the low table. Another supper stood, this time with cups and plates for Becky as well as herself. A piece of bright, heavy, strange embroidery covered the battered mantel, and on it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare ugly things which could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look quite pretty. Some odd materials of rich colors had been fastened against the wall with fine sharp tacks, so sharp that they could be pressed into the wood and plaster without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were several large cushions, big and substantial enough to use as seats. A wooden box was covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it so that it wore quite the air of a sofa. Sara slowly moved away from the door and simply sat down and looked and looked again. It is exactly like something Fairy come true, she said. There isn't the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything. Diamonds or bags of gold and that they would appear. That wouldn't be any stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? And to think I used to pretend and pretend and wish there were fairies. The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am living in a fairy story. I feel as if I might be a fairy myself and able to turn things into anything else. She rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in the next cell and the prisoner came. When she entered she almost dropped in a heap upon the floor. For a few seconds she quite lost her breath. Oh, laws, she gasped. Oh, laws, Miss. You see, said Sara, on this night Becky sat on a cushion upon the hearthrug and had a cup and saucer of her own. When Sara went to bed she found that she had a new thick mattress and big downy pillows. Her old mattress and pillow had been removed to Becky's bedstead, and consequently with these additions Becky had been supplied with unheard of comfort. Where does it all come from? Becky broke forth once. Laws. Who does it, miss? Don't let us even ask, said Sara. If it were not that I want to say, oh, thank you, I would rather not know. It makes it more beautiful. From that time life became more wonderful. Day by day the fairy story continued. Almost every day something new was done. Some new comfort or ornament appeared each time Sarah opened the door at night, until in a short time the attic was a beautiful little room full of all sorts of odd and luxurious things. The ugly walls were gradually entirely covered with pictures and draperies. Ingenious pieces of folding furniture appeared. A bookshelf was hung up and filled with books. New comforts and conveniences appeared one by one until there seemed nothing left to be desired. When Sarah went downstairs in the morning, the remains of the supper were on the table, and when she returned to the attic in the evening, the magician had removed them and left. Another nice little meal. Ms. Minchin was as harsh and insulting as ever, Ms. Amelia as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar and rude. Sara was sent on errands in all weathers and scolded and driven hither and thither. She was scarcely allowed to speak to Ermengarde and Lottie. Lavinia sneered at the increasing shabbiness of her clothes, and the other girls stared curiously at her when she appeared in the schoolroom. But what did it all matter when she was living in this wonderful, mysterious story. It was more romantic and delightful than anything she had ever invented to comfort her starved young soul and save herself from despair. Sometimes when she was scolded, she could scarcely keep from smiling. If you only knew, she was saying to herself, if you only knew. The comfort and happiness she enjoyed was making her stronger, and she had them always to look forward to. If she came home from her errands wet and tired and hungry, she knew she would soon be warm and well fed. After she had climbed the stairs during the hardest day, she could occupy herself blissfully by thinking of what she should see when she opened the attic door and wondering what new delight had been prepared for her. In a very short time. She began to look less thin. Color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem so much too big for her face. Sara Crewe looks wonderfully well, Miss Minchin remarked disapprovingly to her sister. Yes, answered poor, silly Miss Amelia. She is absolutely fattening. She was beginning to look like a little starved crow. Starved. Exclaimed Miss Minchin angrily. There was no reason that she should look starved. She always had plenty to eat. Ofof course, agreed Miss Amelia, humbly alarmed to find that she had, as usual, said the wrong thing. There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort of thing in a child of her age, said Miss Minchin with haughty vagueness. What sort of thing? Miss Amelia ventured. It might almost be called defiance, answered Miss Minchin, feeling annoyed because she knew the thing she resented was nothing like defiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant term to use. The spirit and will of any other child would have been entirely humbled and broken by. By the changes she has had to submit to. But upon my word, she seems as little subdued as if. As if she were a princess. Do you remember, put in the unwise Miss Amelia, what she said to you that day in the schoolroom about what you would do if you found out that she was. No, I don't, said Miss Minchin. Don't talk nonsense. But she remembered very clearly indeed, very naturally. Even Becky was beginning to look plumper and less frightened. She could not help it. She had her share in the secret fairy story, too. She had two mattresses, two pillows, plenty of bed covering, and every night a hot supper and a seat on the cushions by the fire. The bastille had melted away. The prisoners no longer existed. Two comforted children sat in the midst of delights. Sometimes Sarah read aloud from her books. Sometimes she learned her own lessons. Sometimes she sat and looked into the fire and tried to imagine who her friend could be and wish she could say to him some of the things in her heart. Then it came about that another wonderful thing happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were addressed in large letters to the little girl in the right hand attic. Sara herself was sent to open the door and take them in. She laid the two largest parcels on the hall table and was looking at the address when Ms. Minchin came down the stairs and saw her. Take the things to the young lady. To whom they belong, she said severely. Don't stand there staring at them. They belong to me, answered Sara quietly. To you? Exclaimed Ms. Minchin. What do you mean? I don't know where they come from, said Sara, but they are addressed to me. I sleep in the right hand attic. Becky has the other one. Ms. Minchin came to her side and looked at the parcels with an excited expression. What's in them? She demanded. I don't know, replied Sara. Open them, she ordered. Sara did as she was told. When the packages were unfolded, Ms. Minchin's countenance wore suddenly a singular expression. What she saw was pretty and comfortable clothing, clothing of different kinds, shoes, stockings and gloves, and a warm and beautiful coat. There were even a nice hat and an umbrella. They were all good and expensive things, and on the pocket of the coat was pinned a paper on which were written these to be worn every day, will be replaced by others when necessary. Ms. Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a mistake after all, and that the neglected child had some powerful, though eccentric friend in the background, Perhaps some previously unknown relation who had suddenly traced her whereabouts and chose to provide for her in this mysterious and fantastic way? Relations were sometimes very odd, particularly rich old bachelor uncles who did not care for having children near them. A man of that sort might prefer to overlook his young relations welfare at a distance. Such a person, however, would be sure to be crotchety and hot tempered enough to be easily offended. It would not be very pleasant if there were such a one, and he should learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, and the hard work. She felt very queer indeed, and very uncertain, and she gave a side glance at Sara. Well, she said in a voice such as she had never used since the little girl lost her father, someone is very kind to you, as the things have been sent, and you are to have new ones when they are worn out. You may as well go and put them on and look respectable. After you are dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the schoolroom. You need not go out on any more errands today. About half an hour afterward, when the schoolroom door opened and Sara walked in, the entire seminary was struck dumb. My word. Ejaculated Jessie, jogging Lavinia's elbow. Look at the Princess Sarah. Everybody was looking, and when Lavinia looked she turned quite red. It was the Princess Sara indeed. At least since the days when she had been a princess, Sara had never looked as she did now. She did not seem the Sara they had seen coming down the back stairs a few hours ago. She was dressed in the kind of frock Lavinia had been used to envying her the possession of. It was deep and warm in color and beautifully made. Her slender feet looked as they had done when Jessie had admired them, and the hair, whose heavy locks had made her look rather like a Shetland pony when it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tied back with a ribbon. Perhaps someone has left her a fortune, jessie whispered. I always thought something would happen to her. She's so queer. Perhaps the diamond mines have suddenly appeared again, said Lavinia scathingly. Don't please her by staring at her in that way, you silly thing, Sara broke in Ms. Minchin's deep voice. Come and sit here. And while the whole schoolroom stared and pushed with elbows and scarcely made any effort to conceal its excited curiosity, Sara went to her old seat of honor and bent her head over her books. That night, when she went to her room after she and Becky had eaten their supper, she sat and looked at the fire seriously for a long time. Are you making something up in your head, Miss? Becky inquired with respectful softness. When Sara sat in silence and looked into the coals with dreaming eyes, it generally meant that she was making a new story, but this time she was not, and she shook her head. No, she answered, I am wondering what I ought to do. Becky stared still respectfully. She was filled with something approaching reverence for everything Sara did and said, I can't help thinking about my friend, Sara explained. If he wants to keep himself a secret, it would be rude to try and find out who he is. But I do so want him to know how thankful I am to him and how happy he has made me. Anyone who is kind wants to know when people have been made happy. They care for that more than for being thanked. I wish. I do wish. She stopped short because her eyes at that instant fell upon something standing on a table in A corner. It was something she had found in the room when she came up to it only two days before. It was a little writing case filled with paper and envelopes and pens and ink. Oh. She exclaimed. Why did I not think of that before? She rose and went to the corner and brought the case back to the fire. I can write to him, she said joyfully, and leave it on the table. Then perhaps the person who takes the things away will take it too. I won't ask him anything. He won't mind my thanking him, I feel sure. So she wrote a note. This is what it I hope you will not think it is impolite that I should write this note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret. Please believe I do not mean to be impolite or try to find out anything at all. Only I want to thank you for being so kind to me, so heavenly kind, and making everything like a fairy story. I am so grateful to you, and I am so happy, and so is Becky. Becky feels just as thankful as I do. It is all just as beautiful and wonderful to her as it is to me. We used to be so lonely and cold and hungry. And now. Oh, just think what you have done for us. Please let me just say these words. It seems as if I ought to say them. Thank you, thank you, thank you. The Little Girl in the attic the next morning she left this on the little table, and in the evening it had been taken away with the other things. So she knew the magician had received it. It and she was happier for the thought. She was reading one of her new books to Becky just before they went to their respective beds, when her attention was attracted by a sound at the skylight. When she looked up from her page, she saw that Becky had heard the sound also, as she had turned her head to look and was listening rather nervously. Something's there, miss, she whispered. Yes, said Sara slowly. It sounds like. Rather like a cat trying to get in. She left her chair and went to the skylight. It was a queer little sound she heard, like a soft scratching. She suddenly remembered something and laughed. She remembered a quaint little intruder who had made his way into the attic once before. She had seen him that very afternoon, sitting disconsolately on a table before a window in the Indian gentleman's house. Suppose, she whispered in pleased excitement, just suppose it was the monkey who got away again. Oh, I wish it was. She climbed on a chair very cautiously, raised the skylight and peeped out. It had been snowing all day, and on the snow Quite near her crouched a tiny shivering figure whose small black face wrinkled itself piteously at sight of her. It is the monkey. She cried out. He has crept out of the lascars attic. And he saw the light. Becky ran to her side. Are you going to let him in, miss? She said. Yes, sara answered joyfully. It's too cold for monkeys to be out. They're delicate. I'll coax him in. She put a hand out, delicately speaking in a coaxing voice as she spoke to the sparrows and to Melchizedek as if she were some friendly little animal herself. Come along, monkey darling, she said. I won't hurt you. He knew she would not hurt him. He knew it before she laid her soft, caressing little paw on him and drew him towards her. He had felt human love in the slim brown hands of Ram Dass, and he felt it in hers. He let her lift him through the skylight, and when he found himself in her arms and he cuddled up to her breast and looked up into her face. Nice monkey, nice monkey, she crooned, kissing his funny head. Oh, I do love little animal things. He was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she sat down and held him on her knee, he looked from her to Becky with mingled interest and appreciation. He is plain looking, miss, ain't he? Said Becky. He looks like a very ugly baby, laughed Sara. I beg your pardon, monkey, but I'm glad you are not a baby. Your mother couldn't be proud of you, and no one would dare to say you looked like any of your relations. Oh, I do like you. She leaned back in her chair and reflected. Perhaps he's sorry he's so ugly, she said, and it's always on his mind. I wonder if he has a mind. Monkey, my love, have you a mind? But the monkey only put up a tiny paw and scratched his head. What shall we do with him? Becky asked. I shall let him sleep with me tonight and then take him back to the Indian Gentleman tomorrow. I am sorry to take you back, monkey, but you must go. You ought to be fondest of your own family, and I am not a real relation. And when she went to bed, she made him a nest at her feet, and he curled up and slept there as if he were a baby and much pleased with his quarters. Chapter 17 it is the Child the next afternoon three members of the large family sat in the Indian Gentleman's library, doing their best to cheer him up. They had been allowed to come in to perform this office because he had specially invited them. He had been living in a state of suspense for some time, and today he was waiting for a certain event, very anxiously. This event was the return of Mr. Carmichael from Moscow. His stay there had been prolonged from week to week. On his first arrival there, he had not been able satisfactorily to trace the family he had gone in search of. When he felt at last sure that he had found them and had gone to their house, he had been told that they were absent on a journey. His efforts to reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided to remain in Moscow until their return. Mr. Carrisford sat in his reclining chair, and Janet sat on the floor beside him. He was very fond of Janet. Nora had found a footstool, and Donald was astride the tiger's head, which ornamented the rug made of the animal's skin. It must be owned that he was riding it rather violently. Don't chirp so loud, Donald, janet said. When you come to cheer an ill person up, you don't cheer him up at the top of your voice. Perhaps cheering up is too loud, Mr. Carrisford, turning to the Indian gentleman, but he only patted her shoulder. No, it isn't, he answered, and it keeps me from thinking too much. I'm going to be quiet. Donald shouted. We'll all be as quiet as mice. Mice don't make a noise like that, said Janet. Donald made a bridle of his handkerchief and bounced up and down on the tiger's head. A whole lot of mice might, he said cheerfully. A thousand mice might. I don't believe 50,000 mice would, said Janet severely. And we have to be as quiet as one mouse. Yes. Mr. Carrisford laughed and patted her shoulder again. Papa won't be very long now, she said. May we talk about the lost little girl? I don't think I could talk much about anything else just now, the Indian gentleman answered, knitting his forehead with a tired look. We like her so much, said Nora. We call her the Little Unfairy Princess. Why? The Indian gentleman inquired. Because the fancies of the large family always made him forget things a little. It was Janet who answered. It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will be so rich when she is found that she will be like a princess in a fairy tale. We called her the fairy Princess at first, but it didn't quite suit. Is it true, said Nora, that her papa gave all his money to a friend to put in a mine that had diamonds in it, and then the friend thought he had lost it all and ran away because he felt as if he was a robber. But he wasn't really, you know, put in Janet hastily. The Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly. No, he wasn't really, he said. I am sorry for the friend, janet said. I can't help it. He didn't mean to do it and it would break his heart. I am sure it would break his heart. You are an understanding little woman, Janet, the Indian gentleman said, and he held her hand close. Did you tell Mr. Carrisford? Donald shouted again about the little girl who isn't a beggar. Did you tell him she has nice new clothes? Perhaps she's been found by somebody when she was lost. There's a cab. Exclaimed Janet. It's stopping before the door. It's Papa. They all ran to the windows to look out. Yes, it's Papa. Donald proclaimed. But there is no little girl. All three of them incontinently fled from the room and tumbled into the hall. It was in this way they always welcomed their father. They were to be heard jumping up and down, clapping their hands, and being caught up and kissed. Mr. Carrisford made an effort to rise and sank back again. It is no use, he said. What a wreck I am. Mr. Carmichael's voice approached the door. No, children, he was saying. You may come in after I have talked to Mr. Carrisford. Go and play with Ram Dass. Then the door opened and he came in. He looked rosier than ever and brought an atmosphere of freshness and health with him, but his eyes were disappointed and anxious as they met the invalid's look of eager question even as they grasped each other's hands. What news? Mr. Carrisford asked. The child the Russian people adopted. She is not the child we are looking for, was Mr. Carmichael's answer. She is much younger than Captain Crewe's little girl. Her name is Emily Carew. I have seen and talked to her. The Russians were able to give me every detail how wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman looked. His hand dropped from Mr. Carmichael. Then the search has to be begun over again, he said. That is all. Please sit down. Mr. Carmichael took a seat. Somehow he had gradually grown fond of this unhappy man. He was himself so well and happy and so surrounded by cheerfulness and love, that desolation and broken health seemed pitifully unbearable things. If there had been the sound of just one gay little high pitched voice in the house, it would have been so much less forlorn, and that a man should be compelled to carry about in his breast the thought that he had seemed to wrong and desert a child was not a thing one could face. Come, come, he said in his cheery voice. We'll find her yet. We must begin at once. No time must be lost. Mr. Carrisford fretted. Have you any new suggestion to make? Any whatsoever? Mr. Carmichael felt rather restless and he rose and began to pace the room with a thoughtful, though uncertain face. Well, perhaps, he said, I don't know what it may be worth. The fact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing over in the train on the journey from Dover. What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere. Yes, she is somewhere. We have searched the schools in Paris. Let us give up Paris and begin in London. That was my idea, to search London. There are schools enough in London, said Mr. Carrisford. Then he slightly started, roused by a recollection. By the way, there is one next door. Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer than next door. No, said Carrisford. There is a child there who interests me. But she is not a pupil. And she is a little, dark, forlorn creature, as unlike poor Crewe as a child could be. Perhaps the magic was at work again at that very moment. The beautiful magic. It really seemed as if it might be so. What was it that brought Ram Dass into the room even as his master spoke, salaaming respectfully, but with a scarcely concealed touch of excitement in his dark, flashing eyes. Sahib, he said. The child herself has come. The child. The sahib felt pity, for she brings back the monkey who had again run away to her attic under the roof. I have asked that she remain. It was my thought that it would please the sahib to see and speak with her. Who is she? Inquired Mr. Carmichael. God knows, Mr. Carrisford answered. She is the child I spoke of, a little drudge at the school. He waved his hand to Ram Dass and addressed him. Yes, I should like to see her Go and bring her in. Then he turned to Mr. Carmichael. While you have been away, he explained, I have been desperate. The days were so dark and long. Ram Dass told me of this child's miseries, and together we invented a romantic plan to help her. I suppose it was a childish thing to do, but it gave me something to plan and think of without the help of an agile, soft footed Oriental like Ram Dass. However, it could not have been done. Then Sara came into the room. She carried the monkey in her arms, and he evidently did not intend to part from her if it could be helped. He was clinging to her and chattering, and the interesting Excitement of finding herself in the Indian gentleman's room had brought a flush to Sara's cheeks. Your monkey ran away again, she said in her pretty voice. He came to my garret window last night, and I took him in because it was so cold. I would have brought him back if it had not been so late. I knew you were ill and might not like to be disturbed. The Indian gentleman's hollow eyes dwelt on her with curious interest. That was very thoughtful of you, he said. Sara looked toward Ram Dass, who stood near the door. Shall I give him to the lascar? She asked. How do you know he is a lascar? Said the Indian gentleman, smiling a little. Oh, I know lascars, sara said, handing over the reluctant monkey. I was born in India. The Indian gentleman sat upright so suddenly and with such a change of expression that she was for a moment quite startled. You were born in India. He exclaimed. Were you? Come here. And he held out his hand. Sara went to him and laid her hand in his as he seemed to want to take it. She stood still, and her green gray eyes met his wonderingly. Something seemed to be the matter with him. You live next door? He demanded. Yes, I live at Miss Minchin Seminary. But you are not one of the pupils. A strange little smile hovered about Sara's mouth. She hesitated a moment. I don't think I know exactly what I am, she replied. Why not? At first I was a pupil and a parlor boarder. But now you were a pupil. What are you now? The queer little sad smile was on Sara's lips again. I sleep in the attic next to the scullery maid, she said. I run errands for the cook. I do anything she tells me, and I teach the little ones their lessons. Question her, Carmichael, said Mr. Carrisford, sinking back as if he had lost his strength. Question her. I cannot. The big, kind father of the large family knew how to question little girls. Sara realized how much practice he had had when he spoke to her in his nice, encouraging voice. What do you mean by at first, my child? He inquired. When I was first taken there by my papa. Where is your papa? He died, said Sarah very quietly. He lost all his money and there was none left for me. There was no one to take care of me or to pay Ms. Minchin Carmichael. The Indian gentleman cried out loudly. Carmichael, we must not frighten her, Mr. Carmichael said aside to him in a quick low voice, and he added aloud to Sara. So you were sent up into the attic and made into a little drudge. That was about it, wasn't it? There was no one to take care of me, said Sara. There was no money. I belong to nobody. How did your father lose his money? The Indian gentleman broke in breathlessly. He did not lose it himself, sara answered, wondering still more each moment. He had a friend he was very fond of. He was very fond of him. It was his friend who took his money. He trusted his friend too much. The Indian gentleman's breath came more quickly. The friend might have meant to do no harm, he said. It might have happened through a mistake. Sara did not know how unrelenting her quiet young voice sounded as she answered. If she had known, she would surely have tried to soften it for the Indian gentleman's sake. The suffering was just as bad for my papa, she said. It killed him. What was your father's name? The Indian gentleman said. Tell me. His name was Ralph Crewe, sara answered, feeling startled. Captain Crewe. He died in India. The haggard face contracted and Ram Dass sprang to his master's side. Carmichael, the invalid gasped. It is the child. The child. For a moment Sara thought that he was going to die. Ram Dass poured out drops from a bottle and held them to his lips. Sara stood near, trembling a little. She looked in a bewildered way at Mr. Carmichael. What child am I? She faltered. He was your father's friend, Mr. Carmichael answered. Don't be frightened. We have been looking for you for two years. Sara put her hand up to her forehead and her mouth trembled. She spoke as if she were in a dream and I was at Ms. Minchin's all the while, she half whispered, just on the other side of the wall. 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 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, faithkmore.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. Alright everyone, story time is over. To be continued.