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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. I can't believe it. We're two weeks away from Thanksgiving. That's kind of crazy. Weren't we just in spooky season? Actually, spooky season feels really far away. I think it's because we're now so cozily ensconced in our Christmas spectacular and our Victorian Christmas, and we've got this lovely book about Sara and all her friends. It doesn't feel like spooky season at all anymore. So I think we've done a good job transitioning from spooky season into this early Christmas season that we're doing here, here on Storytime for Grownups. So, yeah, two weeks till Thanksgiving. I'm, I'm excited. I hope you're excited too. So today is in fact the Thursday when I am going to announce the winner of our first prize drawing. So those of you who have been buying my book Christmas Carol and writing to me have been entered into a drawing. And this time the drawing prize is a membership at the house guest level in our online community drawing room. And so today I'm going to announce the winner of that prize. And then on Monday I will reveal what the next prize is going to be. So then we'll have another two week period and then I will announce the winner of that and then there will be another prize. So I'm excited about this. And I just want to say, before I reveal the winner, I just want to say thank you so much. I've been absolutely blown away by how many of you are buying the book. It really, it means so much to me. This book means so much to me and it means so much to me that would go out there and buy it. I know some of you already had a copy of it in the hardcover and you're buying another copy with the paperback. And I just really appreciate it. I know some of you have never bought it before and you've chosen to buy it this Christmas season. And so I just wanted to say a huge thank you and that's What I'm trying to do with these drawings and the book plates and everything else, I'm trying to say thank you. I'm trying to give something back as part of our Victorian Christmas and the spirit of gift giving. And I know that that money can be tight this time of year. And so I really, really do appreciate that you are spending your money on my book this Christmas season. So thank you for doing that. And as I say, if you buy the book and you follow the directions on the Storytime for Grown Ups page, I will enter you into these drawings and I will also send you a signed book plate. And all of the information for how to do that is on the Storytime for Grown Ups webpage. And there is a link to that webpage in the show notes of this episode. So I'm not going to go into that. But if you buy a book, you can have a sign book plate and you can be entered into the drawings. And I will reveal on Monday what the next prize is going to be. But the winner of this prize, which is a free membership at the house guest level in the drawing room. So it's a free membership for life at that level. The winner is. I feel like there should be some sort of drum roll sound, but there isn't. Anyway, the winner is Victoria Sofianos. So if you are Victoria Sofianos, you now are entitled to a free membership at the house guest level in Drawing Room Community, which is our online community. And so to claim your prize, please just go to my website and click on Contact. Or you can just scroll into the show notes of this episode and you'll find the link to that contact page. Go to that page, write to me and let me know that you are in fact Victoria Sofianos and you heard your name announced on this episode. And then I will email you back with the link that you will need in order to claim your free membership. So congratulations to you and good luck. So to everyone else who has entered the drawing, because your name is still in the drawing and on Monday, I'll tell you what you could win next. And if you haven't yet bought a book and you would like to be a part of the drawings, then please pick up a copy. The link to the Amazon page is in the show notes. You can get there very easily and I hope that you will check it out and let me know when you've bought a copy and you will be entered into the drawings. Okay. Other than that, just a reminder that we are having a Christmas card exchange. I'm really excited about that. That is over in the online community, the drawing room. So if you're not a member of that, you can either sign up to be one or sit out. But if you're a member and you're interested in sending Christmas cards to fellow Storytime for Grown UPS listeners, then you should head on over to the drawing room. Check out the announcements channel and all the information for how to do that is there. The deadline for getting your Christmas cards mailed is 11-3-30, so you've got a little while. But you do want to find some time to pick up those cards and and mail them in. So if you would like to participate in the Christmas card exchange, please head on over to the drawing room. There is a link in the show notes to find out how to join, if that's something that you would like to do. And the last announcement that I have before I get into the recap and the questions and everything is that I have scheduled the next tea time. Tea time also happens over in the drawing room. It's a monthly voice chat, kind of like a group phone call where we all talk together. I'm there, you're there. You can just listen if you want. You can also chime in if you'd like. It's a lovely, cozy time. We talk for about an hour. We talk about the book that we're reading, but you can also ask me anything. And we talk about our lives and all kinds of things that are going on just the way we would if it was our drawing room in our lovely Victorian house. So the next tea time is actually going to be in December. It's going to be December 2nd. That's a Tuesday. It'll be at 8pm Eastern. And the reason I'm doing that, usually I do them at the end of the month, but because we have Thanksgiving, obviously at the end of this month, and then Christmas at the end of December, I'm kind of combining the November and December tea times and I'm having it in early December. So December 2nd, 8:00pm Eastern, we will be having tea time in the drawing room. I'll remind you as it gets closer, but mark your calendars if you're interested and sign up for the drawing room if you would like to participate. You have to be landed gentry in order to be part of tea time. So if you'd like to do that, click on the link, head on over and sign up. All right, let's move into this episode. So last time we read chapters two and three, and today we're going to be Reading chapters four and five. I have a couple of questions. We're going to do a little bit of chatting and then we'll get into our chapters for the day. So first let's just remind ourselves of what we read. Let's. Last time. Here is the recap. Alright, so where we left off. Sara enters the schoolroom on her first day of school and all the other girls are very interested in her. Some are jealous, like Lavinia, the oldest, and some are just interested. But it's clear that everyone has heard about her and her fancy things and her room all to herself. Ms. Minchin tries to assert some authority over Sara by telling her that she must learn French. But Sara already knows French and she accidentally sort of shows Ms. Minchin up by speaking fluent French to to the French teacher. There is a girl named Ermengarde who struggles a lot in school and the other girls laugh at her. But Sarah feels bad for her and goes to speak to her at the break and she takes Ermengarde to her room and shows her Emily. And Ermengarde is absolutely taken with Sara and her imagination and her ideas about things. And the two of them decide that they're going to be friends. All right, I'm going to read two comments today. The first one comes from David Axley. David writes, I I know we're only three chapters into this book, but I find myself really liking Sara. I can't get over how she seems so much more mature and compassionate than her age. Sara's revelation to her new friend of how much she misses her father almost brought a tear to my eye. I was a soldier like her father in this story and have a daughter missing. Those you love goes both ways when you're deployed. But I would rather know they were someplace safe so I could do my part more efficiently to see that didn't change. Well, thank you for your service, David, and I'm really glad that you wrote in to share that. That's beautiful. Next is from Anna Caitlyn, who is 13 years old. She says, hey, I'm Anna. I'm 13. Me and my sisters with my grandma have been listening to this. I read A Little Princess a few years ago and I have a question. What age do you think Ms. Minchin's boarding school went up to? That's a great question. We're going to talk about it and I am so, so happy that you are listening with your grandma. That is exactly what I hoped would happen when I started this Christmas spectacular, this Victorian Christmas. So hello to Anna Caitlyn's grandma and her sisters. And hello to all the kids out there listening with grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles and parents and whoever you're listening with. Hello to all the families out there. Thank you for gathering together to make this show a part of your lives. I really, really appreciate it. And hello to everyone who is not listening with their families. I hope that you'll make us all of the Storytime for Grown Ups listeners out there and me part of your family this Christmas season. And I'm so happy to be gathered together with all of you right now. So let's answer these questions. Okay, so the last time I said that, we were probably going to end up talking this time about the Victorian schoolroom. And I was right. Anna's question is the perfect introduction to talking about that. So I'm not going to go on and on about it here, but I think just a very sort of general statement sketch of how a Victorian school works makes sense to talk about since this is the setting of the book, at least at this point, and it's quite different, I think, than like modern schools here in America. So we're going to talk about that a bit today. And I would also like to focus a little bit on Sara as a character because like David is pointing out in his letter, and like many of you have been pointing out in your letters, I've gotten a lot of letters saying basically what David is saying. I just happened to choose his. So Sara is a really likable character. That's what you guys have been writing in to say. And I think that is the general consensus out there in Storytime for Grown Ups Land, that Sara is really a kind of compelling character and we're coming to really like her even at this early point in the story. So we want to take a look at our main character, essentially, and the world that she's inhabiting, which is a great thing to be thinking about at the beginning of a story. Who's in this story? Where does it take place and how do we feel about it? Okay, so let's talk for a little bit about this school, Ms. Minchin's Select Seminary. Right? A seminary is just a school in this context, and select means that it's not open to everyone. So this is a school for girls basically, who are wealthy enough to afford the tuition of this school. We talked a bit last time about different kinds of boarding schools and day schools and things like that. So I'm just going to talk specifically about this school. Ms. Minchin's School and how a school like this was run. So Anna's question was how old the girls are at this school, which is a great question. So we are told that Lavinia is the oldest girl and she is almost 13, so she's 12 and she is currently the oldest girl in the school. At a school like this, girls would usually enter the school around the age of seven or so. So just like Sara is entering now, she's seven. And they would say stay into their teens. And rich girls like these, they would go usually in their teens, to something called a finishing school. So a different kind of school than this called a finishing school. Those were schools that were usually in Europe. And this is where girls would learn the various. They would call them accomplishments. They would learn the accomplishments that would make them basically good wives and therefore more desirable to men who were looking for a wife. And these accomplishments would be things like singing, painting, embroidery, maybe a little bit of literature, some dancing, maybe some card games, how to walk gracefully, how to sit gracefully, that sort of thing, right? Poor girls like Jane Eyre, when we read that book and we saw that boarding school, poor girls might stay at their boarding schools into their 20s because they wouldn't be going to a finishing school. So they would stay all the way through their entire education. Younger children. So children younger than Sara could go to boarding school if their parents decided, decided to send them there. So seven isn't like the absolute youngest that you would be. And if parents wanted to send their children away earlier and the school was willing to accept a younger child, then they could go at any age, basically. But usually children will be educated at home by their nurse, which would have been their nanny or their governess until they were seven or so. And then they would be sent to school. All the children would have been educated together in one room. So it's not like today where if you are seven, you're probably in say first grade with other seven year olds all in a room together. And in a different room in the school would be the second graders and the third graders and et cetera, et cetera. Right. But Sara is in the school room with girls her age, right? Like Ermengard, who we met last time. She's about Sara's age, but also girls much older than her, like Lavinia, and even girls younger than her, if there are any. We haven't found that out yet. There might be some. And they would all be in the same room, sitting at desks with one teacher at the front. In this school, it's Ms. Minchin at the front, except for when they're learning special subjects, like French. We had French last time, right? So special subjects would be taught by other teachers, but the main teacher would sit at the front of the room. And in this school, that main teacher is Ms. Minchin. So the girls would then be split up into smaller groups which were based on their abilities. So if a 7 year old is very bright and already knows a lot, she could be placed in what was called the top class with the oldest girls. And if a girl struggled or hadn't been to school before or something like that, she could be placed in what was known as the lowest class, even if she was actually one of the older girls. So I guess now we would call this essentially tracking, right? Where children are grouped by ability, but they would all be in the same classroom. And you could advance to a higher class if you did well, or be sent down to a lower one if you were struggling. So Ermengarde, who we met, as I said in the last chapter, she is probably in one of the lower classes in the school. And Sara, who seems to be really into books and learning, my guess is that she will probably be one of the higher students. So she'd probably be in the highest class or one of the highest classes. Although she would first have to be examined by Ms. Minchin, probably verbally, to see what she knew. And then Ms. Minchin would place her in that class. This, by the way, is different than the class system that we talked about in the intro episode, where people were sort of grouped socially. That's not like that. This is like your school, school class, except you're not separated into your own room. You are just in a small group within the main schoolroom. The students would then learn the basics like reading, writing and math, as well as languages. We know they have French at this school already. And they would do geography and history and probably also things like dancing and sewing and other accomplishments that they would then carry into that finishing school if they chose to go there. The students would get breaks throughout the day, kind of like we have recess now and snack time. And the children would then be left to their own devices. So this is different, right? There would be no teacher in the room, so literally no adult supervision. And it would be up to the older girls to kind of police the younger girls so that no one got in trouble. Because if they were being too loud or something, then Ms. Minchin or whoever, Ms. Amelia, right, Ms. Minchin's sister, would come in and scold them and maybe they'd be Punished. So the older girls had to keep the younger girls in line because during these breaks there would be no grown ups in the room. And during that time the girls could hang out in the schoolroom, they might read, they could play games, they could chat. And Sara, because she has her own apartment, she can go to her own room if she wants, which is what we saw her do last time with Ermengarde when they went to visit Emily. Right. There would also be meals which would be taken all together, and the teachers and the headmistress would eat at the same time as the kids, usually at the head of the table or at their own separate table in the dining room with the students. And the school would go to church altogether on Sundays and they would have some kind of outdoor recreation during the day, assuming it wasn't raining. There's probably a garden or a sort of walkway where they could go outside and get some fresh air. So hopefully that kind of paints a bit of a picture for you of the type of school that Sara is now at and how it would be run and what a typical day for her might be be like. So now let's look a little bit more closely at Sarah, because as David said in his letter, she's kind of like an old soul, right. And we learned this time that she has a great capacity for keeping her emotions in check. Right. She misses her father very much, but she refuses to let it get to her. And she thinks of herself as a soldier, right, he's a soldier. But she thinks of herself as a soldier too. It's a kind of lovely parallel. The father is away in India, missing her, and she imagines that she is also a soldier like him, away in England, missing him. Here is what she says. She says, I promised him I would bear it and I will. You have to bear things. Think what soldiers bear. Papa is a soldier. If there was a war, he would have to bear marching and thirstiness and perhaps deep wounds. And he would never say a word, not one word. I really love that because not only does it kind of illuminate her character to us, but the writing is so lovely here because this is kind of how a child talks, right? He'd have to bear marching and thirstiness and perhaps deep wounds, Right. This sort of exaggeration of the situation. I mean, yes, there might be deep wounds, but the way that she's thinking about it, you can really kind of hear a kid saying that kind of thing. At least I can. So it's lovely writing there and it really illuminates her character. Another thing that we learned about her is that she is very polite, even to the servants, which you wouldn't necessarily expect from someone who has been given everything she ever wanted and who has always had servants around waiting on her hand and foot, you know. And we're told that she has this French maid, Mariette, and that Mariette really likes working for Sara because Sara treats her like a person and not like an object or a slave or something. Here's what we're. She had taken care of children before, so she is Mariette here. She had taken care of children before who were not so polite. Sara was a very fine little person and had a gentle, appreciative way of saying, if you please, Mariette, thank you, Mariette, which was very charming. Mariette told the head housemate that she thanked her as if she was thanking a lady. Okay, so this is very telling, I think, in the same way that it's telling about people now, really. Like, I personally think you can tell a lot about a person from the way that they treat people who do things for them, like waiters or baristas or clothes cleaning people or whatever. People who are kind to those people tend to be good, kind people. And people who aren't kind to those people tend to be sort of entitled or spoiled sorts of people. So it's the same here. Sara isn't entitled, even though her upbringing has kind of primed her to be. And she's able to see Mariette as an actual person who's doing something for her and therefore deserves her gratitude. Right. And the other thing that David points out about Sara is how compassionate she is. And that is definitely true. The way that she acts toward Ermengarde shows incredible compassion, I think, and not just compassion. She doesn't just feel for Ermengarde. She's also fiercely passionate about justice, and she doesn't like to see anyone mistreated. Here's. We get this quote from her father about this. Here's what he says. If Sara had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago, she would have gone about the country with her sword drawn, rescuing and defending everyone in distress. She always wants to fight when she sees people in trouble. Right. So even though she's been given everything she ever wanted, she actually has a very deep moral core, which causes her to want to protect people like Ermengarde who don't have Sara's natural gifts and are teased because of the things that they just can't control. But I did want to point out, and then we'll move on and get to the chapters. I wanted to point out, though, that while Ermengarde is clearly getting a great deal in befriending Sara, Sara's also kind of getting a good deal in befriending Ermengarde. There's a way in which Ermengarde is sort of so down to earth that she's endearing. I love this line about not even realizing that you could love your father. Here's what it says. It says she knew that it would be far from behaving like a respectable child at a select seminary to say that it had never occurred to her that you could love your father, that you would do anything desperate to avoid being left alone in his society for 10 minutes. Right? So she's kind of this glumping, kind of down to earth, solid little person. And compared to Sara, this old soul who loves to pretend things and read and worries about being polite and telling the truth and everything and is sort of whimsical. So compared to Sara, Ermengarde is much more of the world. And it's possible that Sara might need a person like that in her life and that this friendship that is developing between Ermengarde and Sara, it might actually be mutually beneficial, even though on the surface it looks like it's better for Ermengarde than it is for Sara. So at this point we've basically been in like intro mode, right? We're learning about the various characters who are going to be part of this story. We've got Sara, Ms. Minchin, Ms. Amelia, who's Ms. Minchin's sister, right, and helps her to run the school. School. We've got Lavinia, who's the oldest girl and seems kind of a little snooty from what we can tell so far. We've got Jesse, who is Lavinia's friend, and we've got Ermengarde. So now we should get back to the story. So let's get back to it and see if we meet anyone else. And we can see how Sara is settling into this new life as a pupil at Ms. Minchin's school. So let's get back to it. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faith k.moore.com. and then you click on Contact. Or you could scroll into the show notes and click the link that's there. It takes you to the same page. And I would love to hear from you, I would love to hear from your kids, if you're a kid. Just let me know how old you are. If you're a grown up you don't have to do that and just write in with your questions, your thoughts. I love to hear them. And of course write to me if you have bought my book and you would like a book plate or to be entered in the next drawing which will be announced on Monday. And instructions for how to do that are also linked in the show notes. So check out the show notes. I hope that you will find some links there that interest you and it's not too late to tell a friend. Share this podcast with the people that you know who you think might enjoy it and I hope that you can experience this book with them this Christmas time. All right, let's get started with chapters four and five of A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It's story time. Chapter 4 Lottie if Sara had been a different kind of child, the life she led at Ms. Minchin's Select Seminary for the next few years would not have been at all good for her. She was treated more as if she were a distinguished guest at the establishment than as if she were a mere little girl. If she had been a self opinionated, domineering child, she might have become disagreeable enough to be unbearable through being so much indulged and flattered. If she had been an indolent child, meaning if she had been a lazy child, she would have Learned nothing. Privately, Ms. Minchin disliked her, but she was far too worldly a woman to do or say anything which might make such a desirable pupil wished to leave her school. She knew quite well that if Sara wrote to her papa to tell him she was uncomfortable or unhappy, Captain Crewe would remove her at once. Ms. Minchin's opinion was that if a child were continually praised and never forbidden to do what she liked, she would be sure to be fond of the place where she was so treated. Accordingly, Sara was praised for her quickness at her lessons, for her good manners, for her amiability to her fellow pupils, for her generosity. If she gave sixpence to a beggar out of her full little purse, the simplest thing she did was treated as if it were a virtue. And if she had not had a disposition and a clever little brain, she might have been a very self satisfied young person. But the clever little brain told her a great many sensible and true things about herself and her circumstances. And now and then she talked these things over to Ermengarde as time went on. Things happen to people by accident, she used to say. A lot of nice accidents have happened to me. It just Happened that I always liked lessons in books and could remember things when I learned them. It just happened that I was born with a father who was beautiful and nice and clever and could give me everything I liked. Perhaps I have not really a good temper at all. But if you have everything you want and everyone is kind to you, how can you help but be good tempered? I don't know, looking quite serious, how I shall ever find out whether I am really a nice child or a horrid one. Perhaps I am a hideous child and no one will ever know just because I never have any trials. Lavinia has no trials, said Ermengarde stolidly, and she is horrid enough. Sara rubbed the end of her little nose reflectively as she thought the matter over. Well, she said at last, perhaps, perhaps that is because Lavinia is growing. This was the result of a charitable recollection of having heard Ms. Amelia say that Lavinia was growing so fast that she believed it affected her health and temper. Lavinia, in fact, was spiteful. She was inordinately jealous of Sara. Until the new pupil's arrival, she had felt herself the leader in the school she had led because she was capable of making herself extremely disagreeable if the others did not follow her. She domineered over the little children and assumed grand airs with those big enough to be her companions. She was rather pretty and had been the best dressed pupil in the procession when the select seminary walked out two by two until Sarah's velvet coats and sable muffs appeared combined with drooping ostrich feathers and were led by Ms. Minchin at the head of the line. This, at the beginning, had been bitter enough, but as time went on it became apparent that Sara was a leader too, and not because she could make herself disagreeable, but because she never did. There's one thing about Sara Crew, Jessie had enraged her best friend by saying. Honestly, she's never grand about herself the least bit. And you know, she might be lavvy, I believe. I couldn't help being just a little if I had so many fine things and was made such a fuss over. It's disgusting the way Ms. Minchin shows her off when parents come. Dear Sara must come into the drawing room and talk to Mrs. Musgrave about India, mimicked Lavinia in her most highly flavored imitation of Miss Minchin. Dear Sara must speak French to Lady Pitkin. Her accent is so perfect. She didn't learn her French at the seminary at any rate, and there's nothing so clever in her knowing it, she says herself, she didn't learn it at all. She just picked it up because she always heard her papa speak it. And as to her papa, there's nothing so grand in being an Indian officer. Well, said Jessie slowly, he's killed tigers. He killed the one in the skin Sara has in her room. That's why she likes it so she lies on it and strokes its head and talks to it as if it was a cat. She's always doing something silly, snapped Lavinia. My mama says that way of hers of pretending things is silly. She says she will grow up eccentric. It was quite true that sorrow was never grand. She was a friendly little soul and shared her privileges and belongings with a free hand. The little ones who were accustomed to being disdained and ordered out of the way by mature ladies aged 10 and 12 were never made to cry by this most envied of them all. She was a motherly young person, and when people fell down and scraped their knees she ran and helped them up and patted them, or found in her pocket a bon bon or some other article of a soothing nature. She never pushed them out of her way or alluded to their years as a humiliation and a blot upon their small characters. If you are four, you are four, she said severely to Lavinia on an occasion of her having, it must be confessed, slapped Lottie and called her a brat. But you will be five next year, and six the year after that, and opening large convicting eyes, it takes 16 years to make you 20. Dear me, said Lavinia, how we can calculate. In fact, it was not to be denied that 16 and 4 made 20, and 20 was an age the most daring were scarcely bold enough to dream of. So the younger children adored Sara. More than once she had been known to have a tea party made up of these despised ones in her own room, and Emily had been played with, and Emily's own tea service used the one with cups, which held quite a lot of much sweetened weak tea and had blue flowers on them. No one had seen such a very real doll's tea set before. From that afternoon Sara was regarded as a goddess and a queen by the entire Alphabet class, meaning all the youngest students now look up to Sara because she's kind to them. Lottie Lee worshipped her to such an extent that if Sara had not been a motherly person she would have found her tiresome. Lottie had been sent to school by a rather flighty young papa who could not imagine what else to do with her. Her young mother had died. And as the child had been treated like a favorite doll or a very spoiled pet monkey or lap dog ever since the first hour of her life, she was a very appalling little creature. When she wanted anything or did not want anything, she wept and howled, and as she always wanted the things she could not have and did not want the things that were best for her, her shrill little voice was usually to be heard uplifted in Wales, in one part of the house or another. Her strongest weapon was that in some mysterious way she had found out that a very small girl who had lost her mother was a person who ought to be pitied and made much of. She had probably heard some grown up people talking her over in the early days after her mother's death, so it became her habit to make great use of this knowledge. The first time Sara took her in charge was one morning when, on passing a sitting room, she heard both Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia trying to suppress the angry wails of some child who evidently refused to be silenced. She refused so strenuously indeed, that Miss Minchin was obliged to almost shout in a stately and severe manner to make herself heard. What is she crying for? She almost yelled. Oh. Oh. Oh. Sorrow heard. I haven't got any. Ma. Oh. Lottie. Screamed Miss Amelia. Do stop, darling. Don't cry. Please don't. Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho. Lottie howled tempestuously. Haven't got any. Ma. Ma. She ought to be whipped. Miss Minchin proclaimed. You shall be whipped, you naughty child. Lottie wailed more loudly than ever. Miss Amelia began to cry. Miss Minchin's voice rose until it almost thundered. Then suddenly she sprang up from her chair in impotent indignation and flounced out of the room, leaving Miss Amelia to arrange the matter. Sara had paused in the hall, wondering if she ought to go into the room, because she had recently begun a friendly acquaintance with Lottie and might be able to quiet her. When Miss Minchin came out and saw her, she looked rather annoyed. She realized that her voice, as heard from inside the room, could not have sounded either dignified or amiable. Oh, Sara. She exclaimed, endeavoring to produce a suitable smile. I stopped, explained Sara, because I knew it was Lottie, and I thought perhaps, just perhaps, I might make her be quiet. May I try, Miss Minchin? If you can. You are a clever child, answered Miss Minchin, drawing in her mouth sharply. Then, seeing that Sara looked slightly chilled by her asperity, she changed her manner. But you are clever in everything, she said in her approving way. I dare say you can manage her. Go in. And she left her. When Sara entered the room, Lottie was lying upon the floor, screaming and kicking her small fat legs violently, and Miss Amelia was bending over her in consternation and despair, looking quite red and damp with heat. Lottie had always found when in her own nursery at home that kicking and screaming would always be quieted by any means she insisted on. Poor plump Miss Amelia was trying first one method and then another. Poor darling, she said one moment, I know you haven't any mamma poor. Then in quite another tone, if you don't stop Lottie, I will shake you poor little angel. There, you wicked, bad, detestable child. I will smack you. I will. Sorrow went to them quietly. She did not know at all what she was going to do, but she had a vague inward conviction that it would be better not to say such different kinds of things quite so helplessly and excitedly. Miss Amelia, she said in a low voice, miss Minchin says I may try to make her stop. May I? Miss Amelia turned and looked at her hopelessly. Oh, do you think you can? She gasped. I don't know whether I can, answered Sara, still in her half whisper, but I will try. Miss Amelia stumbled up from her knees with a heavy sigh, and Lottie's fat little legs kicked as hard as ever. If you will steal out of the room, said Sara, I will stay with her. Oh, Sara almost whimpered Miss Amelia, we never had such a dreadful child before. I don't believe we can keep her. But she crept out of the room and was very much relieved to find an excuse for doing it. Sarah stood by the howling, furious child for a few moments and looked down at her without saying anything. Then she sat down flat on the floor beside her and waited. Except for Lottie's angry screams, the room was quite quiet. This was a new state of affairs for little Miss Lee, who was accustomed when she screamed to hear other people protest and implore and command and coax by turns, to lie and kick and shriek and find the only person near you, not seeming to mind in the least attracted her attention. She opened her tight shut streaming eyes to see who this person was, and it was only another little girl, but it was the one who owned Emily and all the nice things, and she was looking at her steadily and as if she was merely thinking. Having paused for a few seconds to find this out, Lottie thought she must begin again. But the quiet of the room and Sara's odd interested face made her first howl rather half hearted. I haven't any mama, she announced, but her voice was not so strong. Sara looked at her still more steadily, but with a sort of understanding in her eyes. Neither have I, she said. This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Lottie actually dropped her legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and stared. A new idea will stop a crying child when nothing else will also. It was true that while Lottie disliked Ms. Minchin, who was cross, and Miss Amelia, who was foolishly indulgent, she rather liked Sara, little as she knew her. She did not want to give up her grievance, but her thoughts were distracted from it. So she wriggled again and after a sulky sob, said, where is she? Sara paused a moment because she had been told that her mama was in heaven. She had thought a great deal about the matter, and her thoughts had not been quite like those of other people. She went to heaven, she said, but I am sure she comes out sometimes to see me, though I don't see her. So does yours. Perhaps they can both see us now. Perhaps they are both in this room. Lottie sat bolt upright and looked about her. She was a pretty little curly headed creature and her round eyes were like wet forget me nots. If her mama had seen her during the last half hour, she might not have thought her the kind of child who ought to be related to an angel. Sara went on talking. Perhaps some people might think that what she said was rather like a fairy story, but it was all so real to her own imagination that Lottie began to listen in spite of herself. She had been told that her mama had wings and a crown, and she had been shown pictures of ladies in beautiful white nightgowns who were said to be angels. But Sara seemed to be telling a real story about a lovely country where real people were There are fields and fields of flowers, she said, forgetting herself as usual when she began, and talking rather as if she were in a dream. Fields and fields of lilies, and when the soft wind blows over them it wafts the scent of them into the air and everybody always breathes it because the soft wind is always blowing and little children run about in the lily fields and gather armfuls of them and laugh and make little wreaths and the streets are shining and people are never tired however far they walk they can float anywhere they like, and there are walls made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they are low enough for the people to go and lean on them and look down onto the earth and smile and send beautiful messages. Whatsoever story she had begun to tell, Lottie would no doubt have stopped crying and been fascinated into listening. But there was no denying that this story was prettier than most others. She dragged herself close to Sarah and drank in every word until the end came far too soon. When it did come, she was so sorry that she put up her lip ominously. I want to go there. She cried. I haven't any mama in this school. Sara saw the danger signal and came out of her dream. She took hold of the chubby hand and pulled her close to her side with a coaxing little laugh. I will be your mama, she said. We will play that you are my little girl and Emily shall be your sister. Lottie's dimples all began to show themselves. Shall she? She said. Yes, answered Sara, jumping to her feet. Let us go and tell her, and then I will wash your face and brush your hair. To which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out of the room and upstairs with her without seeming even to remember that the whole of the last hour's tragedy had been caused by the fact that she had refused to be washed and brushed for lunch, and Ms. Minchin had been called in to use her majestic authority, and from that time Sara was an adopted mother. Chapter 5 Becky of course, the greatest power Sara possessed was the one which gained her even more followers than her luxuries and the fact that she was the show pupil. The power that Lavinia and certain other girls were most envious of, and at the same time most fascinated by in spite of themselves, was her power of telling stories and of making everything she talked about seem like a story, whether it was one or not. Anyone who has been at school with a teller of stories knows what the wonder means, how he or she is followed about and besought in a whisper to relate romances, how groups gather round and hang on the outskirts of the favored party in the hope of being allowed to join in and listen. Sarah not only could tell stories, but she adored telling them. When she sat or stood in the midst of a circle and began to invent wonderful things, her green eyes grew big and shining, her cheeks flushed, and without knowing that she was doing it, she began to act and made what she told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping of her voice, the bend and sway of her slim body, and the dramatic movement of her hands, she forgot that she was talking to listening children. She saw and lived with the fairy folk or the kings and queens and beautiful ladies whose adventures she was narrating. Sometimes, when she had finished her story she was quite out of breath with excitement and would lay her hand on her thin, little, quick rising chest and half laugh as if at herself. When I am telling it, she would say, it doesn't seem as if it was only made up. It seems more real than you are, more real than the schoolroom. I feel as if I were all the people in the story, one after the other. It is queer. She had been at Miss Minchin's school about two years when one foggy winter's afternoon, as she was getting out of her carriage, comfortably wrapped up in her warmest velvets and furs and looking very much grander than she knew, she caught sight as she crossed the pavement of a dingy little figure standing on the area steps and stretching its neck so that its wide open eyes might peer at her through the railings. Something in the eagerness and timidity of the smudgy face made her look at it, and when she looked, she smiled, because it was her way to smile at people. But the owner of the smudgy face and the wide open eyes evidently was afraid that she ought not to have been caught looking at pupils of importance. She dodged out of sight like a jack in the box and scurried back into the kitchen, disappearing so suddenly that if she had not been such a poor little forlorn thing, Sara would have laughed in spite of herself. That very evening, as Sara was sitting in the midst of a group of listeners in a corner of the schoolroom telling one of her stories, the very same figure timidly entered the room carrying a coal box much too heavy for her, and knelt down upon the hearth rug to replenish the fire and. And sweep up the ashes. She was cleaner than she had been when she peeped through the area railings, but she looked just as frightened. She was evidently afraid to look at the children or seem to be listening. She put on pieces of coal cautiously with her fingers so that she might make no disturbing noise, and she swept about the fire irons very softly. But Sarah saw in two minutes that she was deeply interested in what was going on and that she was doing her work slowly in the hope of catching a word. Here and there was. And realizing this, she raised her voice and spoke more clearly. The mermaids swam softly about in the crystal green water and dragged after them a fishing net woven of deep sea pearls. She said the princess sat on the white rock and watched them. It was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved by a prince merman and went to live with him. Him in shining caves under the sea. The small drudge before the grate swept the hearth once and then swept it again. Having done it twice, she did it three times, and as she was doing it the third time, the sound of the story so lured her to listen that she fell under the spell and actually forgot that she had no right to listen at all and also forgot everything else. She sat down upon her heels as she knelt on the hearthrug and the brush hung idly in her fingers. The voice of the storyteller went on and drew her with it into winding grottoes under the sea, glowing with soft clear blue light and paved with pure golden sands. Strange sea flowers and grasses waved about her and far away faint singing and music echoed. The hearth brush fell from the work roughened hand and Lavinia Herbert looked round. That girl has been listening, she said. The culprit snatched up her brush and scrambled to her feet. She caught at the coal box and simply scuttled out of the room like a frightened rabbit. Sara felt rather hot tempered. I knew she was listening, she said. Why shouldn't she? Lavinia tossed her head with great elegance. Well, she remarked, I do not know whether your mama would like you to tell stories to servant girls, but I know my mama wouldn't like me to do it. My mama, said Sara, looking odd. I don't believe she would mind in the least. She knows that stories belong to everybody. I thought, retorted Lavinia in severe recollection, that your mama was dead. How can she know things? Do you think she doesn't know things? Said Sara in her stern little voice. Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice. Sara's mama knows everything, piped in Lottie. So does my mama. Cept Sara is my mama at Ms. Minchin's. My other one knows everything. The streets are shining and there are fields and fields of lilies and everybody gathers them. Sara tells me when she puts me to bed. You wicked thing, said Lavinia, turning on Sara, making fairy stories about heaven. There are much more splendid stories in Revelation, returned Sara. Just look and see. How do you know mine are fairy stories? But I can tell you with a fine bit of unheavenly temper. You will never find out whether they are or not if you're not kinder to people than you are now. Meaning she'll go to hell if she keeps acting like this. Come along, Lottie. And she marched out of the room, rather hoping that she might see the little servant again somewhere, but she found no trace of her when she got into the hall. Who is that little girl who makes the fires? She asked Mariette that night. Mariette broke forth into a flow of description. Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle Sara might well ask. She was a forlorn little thing who had just taken the place of scullery maid. So a scullery maid is a very low ranking servant who does the most menial tasks, though as to being scullery maid, she was everything else besides. She blacked boots and grates and carried heavy coal scuttles up and down stairs and scrubbed floors and cleaned windows and was ordered about by Everybody. She was 14 years old, but was so stunted in growth that she looked about 12. In truth, Mariette was sorry for her. She was so timid that if one chanced to speak to her, it appeared as if her poor frightened eyes would jump out of her head. What is her name? Asked Sara, who had sat by the table with her chin on her hands as she listened absorbedly to the recital. Her name was Becky. Mariette heard everyone below stairs calling, becky do this and Becky do that. Every five minutes in the day. Sara sat and looked into the fire, reflecting on Becky for some time after Mariette left her. She made up a story in which Becky was the ill used heroine. She thought she looked as if she had never had quite enough to eat. Her very eyes were hungry. She hoped she should see her again. But though she caught sight of her carrying things up or downstairs on several occasions, she always seemed in such a hurry and so afraid of being seen that it was impossible to speak to her. But a few weeks later, on another foggy afternoon, when she entered her sitting room, she found herself confronting a rather pathetic picture in her own special and pet easy chair before the bright fire. Becky with a coal smudge on her nose and several on her apron, with her poor little cap hanging half off her head and an empty coal box on the floor near her, sat fast asleep, tired out beyond even the endurance of her hard working young body. She had been sent up to put the bedrooms in order for the evening. There were a great many of them, and she had been running about all day. Sara's rooms she had saved until last. They were not like the other rooms, which were plain and bare. Ordinary pupils were expected to be satisfied with mere necessaries. Sara's comfortable sitting room seemed a bower of luxury to the scullery maid, though it was in fact merely a nice bright little room. But there were pictures and books in it and curious things from India. There was a sofa and the low soft chair. Emily sat in a chair of her own, with the air of a presiding goddess, and there was always a glowing fire and a polished grate. Becky saved it until the end of her afternoon's work because it rested her to go into it, and she always hoped to snatch a few minutes to sit down in the soft chair and look about her and think about the wonderful good fortune of the child who owned such surroundings and who went out on the cold days in beautiful hats and coats one tried to catch a glimpse of through the area railing. On this afternoon when she had sat down, the sensation of relief to her short, aching legs had been so wonderful and delightful that it had seemed to soothe her whole body, and the glow of warmth and comfort from the fire had crept over her like a spell until, as she looked at the red coals and a tired, slow smile stole over her smudged face, her head nodded forward without her being aware of it, her eyes drooped and she fell fast asleep. She had really been only about 10 minutes in the room when Sara entered, but she was in as deep asleep as if she had been like the Sleeping Beauty slumbering for a hundred years. But she did not look, poor Becky, like a Sleeping Beauty at all. She looked only like an ugly, stunted, worn out little scullery drudge. Sara seemed as much unlike her as if she were a creature from another world. On this particular afternoon she had been taking her dancing lesson, and the afternoon on which the dancing master appeared was rather a grand occasion. At the seminary, though it occurred every week, the pupils were attired in their prettiest frocks, and as Sara danced particularly well, she was very much brought forward, and Mariette was requested to make her as diaphanous and fine as possible. Today a frock the color of a rose had been put on her, and Mariette had bought some real buds and made her a wreath to wear on her black locks. She had been learning a new delightful dance in which she had been skimming and flying about the room like a large rose colored butterfly, and the enjoyment and exercise had brought a brilliant, happy glow into her face when she entered the room. She floated in with a few of the butterfly steps and there sat Becky, nodding her cap sideways off her head. Oh. Cried Sara softly when she saw her. That poor thing. It did not occur to her to feel cross at finding her pet chair occupied by the small dingy figure. To tell the truth, she was quite glad to find it there. When the ill used heroine of her story wakened, she could talk to her. She crept toward her quietly and stood Looking at her, Becky gave a little snore. I wish she'd waken herself, Sara said. I don't like to waken her, but Ms. Minchin would be cross if she found out. I'll just wait a few minutes. She took a seat on the edge of the table and sat swinging her slim rose colored legs and wondering what it would be best to do. Ms. Amelia might come in at any moment and if she did, I. Becky would be sure to be scolded. But she is so tired, she thought. She is so tired. A piece of flaming coal ended her perplexity for her that very moment. It broke off from a large lump and fell onto the fender. Becky started and opened her eyes with a frightened gasp. She did not know she had fallen asleep. She had only sat down for one moment and felt the beautiful glow. And here she found herself sitting staring in wild alarm at the wonderful pupil who sat perched quite near her like a rose colored fairy with interested eyes. She sprang up and clutched at her cap. She felt it dangling over her ear and tried wildly to put it straight. Oh, she had got herself into trouble now with a vengeance to have impudently fallen asleep on such a young lady's chair. She would be turned out of doors without wages. She made a sound like a big breathless sob. Oh, Miss. Oh, Miss. She stuttered. I asked your pardon, Miss. Oh, I do, miss. Sara jumped down and came quite close to her. Don't be frightened, she said, quite as if she had been speaking to a little girl like herself. It doesn't matter the least bit. I didn't go to do it, Miss, protested Becky. It was the warm fire and me being so tired wasn't impertinence, she thinks. She didn't mean to fall asleep in the chair. It just happened. Sara broke into a friendly little laugh and put her hand on her shoulder. You were tired, she said. You could not help it. You are not really awake yet. How poor Becky stared at her. In fact, she had never heard such a nice friendly sound in anyone's voice before. She was used to being ordered about and scolded and having her ears boxed. And this one in her rose colored dancing afternoon splendor was looking at her as if she were not a culprit at all. As if she had a right to be tired, even to fall asleep. The touch of the soft, slim little paw on her shoulder was the most amazing thing she had ever known. Ain't. Ain't you angry, Miss? She gasped. Ain't you going to tell the missus? No. Cried out Sara. Of course I'm not. The woeful fright in the coal smutted face made her suddenly so sorry that she could scarcely bear it. One of her queer thoughts rushed into her mind. She put her hand against Becky's cheek. Why, she said. We are just the same. I am only a little girl like you. It's just an accident that I am not you and you are not me. Becky did not understand in the least. Her mind could not grasp such amazing thoughts. And an accident meant her a calamity in which someone was run over or fell off a ladder and was carried to the orspital, meaning the hospital. A accident, Miss. She fluttered respectfully. Is it? Yes, Sara answered, and she looked at her dreamily for a moment. But the next she spoke in a different tone. She realized that Becky did not know what she meant. Have you done your work? She asked. Dare you stay here a few minutes? Becky lost her breath again. Here, Miss. Me? Sara ran to the door, opened it and looked out and listened. No one is anywhere about, she explained. If your bedrooms are finished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while. I thought perhaps you might like a piece of cake. The next 10 minutes seemed to Becky like a sort of delirium. Sara opened a cupboard and gave her a thick slice of cake. She seemed to rejoice when it was devoured in hungry bites. She talked and asked questions and laughed until Becky's fears actually began to calm themselves and she once or twice gathered boldness enough to ask a question or so herself, daring as she felt it to be. Is that, she ventured, looking longingly at the rose colored frock. And she asked it almost in a whisper, is that there your best? It is one of my dancing frocks, answered Zara. I like it, don't you? For a few seconds Becky was almost speechless with admiration. Then she said in an odd voice, unt I see a princess. I was standing in the street with the crowd outside Covent Garden watching the swells go into the opera. She's saying she once saw a princess. She was standing in a crowd outside Covent Garden, which is a place in London, and she was watching the fancy people going into the opera. And there was one everyone stared at most. They says to each other, that's the princess. She was a grown up young lady, but she was pink all over, gowned and cloak and flowers and all. I called her to mind. The minute I see you sitting there on the table, Miss, you looked like her. I've often thought, said Sarah in her reflecting voice, that I should like to be a princess. I wonder what it feels like. I believe I will begin pretending I am one. Becky stared at her admiringly and, as before, did not understand her in the least. She watched her with a sort of adoration. Very soon Sara left her reflections and turned to her with a new question. Becky, she said, weren't you listening to that story? Yes, Miss, confessed Becky, a little alarmed again. I knowed I hadn't order, but it was that beautiful. I couldn't help it. I liked you to listen to it, said Sara. If you tell stories, you like nothing so much as to tell them to people who want to listen. I don't know why it is. Would you like to hear the rest? Becky lost her breath again. Me hear it? She cried, like as if I was a pupil, Miss. All about the prince and the little white mer babies swimming about laughing with stars in their air. Sara nodded. You haven't time to hear it now, I'm afraid, she said. But if you will tell me just what time you come to do my rooms, I will try to be here and tell you a bit of it every day until it is finished. It's a lovely long one, and I'm always putting new bits to it. Then, breathed Becky devoutly, I wouldn't mind how heavy the coal boxes was, or what the cook done to me if. If I might have that to think of. You may, said Sara. I'll tell it all to you. When Becky went downstairs, she was not the same Becky who had staggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal scuttle. She had an extra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, but not only by cake and fire. Something else had warmed and fed her, and the something else was Sara. When she was gone, Sara sat on her favorite perch on the end of her table. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. If I was a princess, a real princess, she murmured, I could scatter largesse to the populace. But even if I am only a pretend princess, I can invent little things to do for people. Things like this. She was just as happy as if it was largess. I'll pretend that to do things people like is scattering largesse. I've scattered largesse. 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 want, buy a copy of the book and email me a screenshot of your receipt. You'll be entered into a drawing to receive your choice of either your money back or an additional signed copy. The email to send the receipt to is in the Show Notes. If you buy multiple copies, you can enter the drawing multiple times. The winner will be notified by email. Also, everyone who buys a copy of the book is entitled to a free signed book with 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, faithkmoore.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.