A Little Princess Chapter 10: A Bedtime Story

Hello, beloveds.

Today's reading is A Little Princess, written by Frances Hodgson Burnett. This is a delightful story about a little girl sent to live in London so that she can go to school and escape the heat of India.

These are her adventures as she finds herself in a new country, with a stern headmistress, a new doll, a monkey, and many new faces to get to know. A delightful tale about staying true to yourself and your values.

All chapters can be found on my profile under my playlists.

Take care, dear ones.

Transcript

Hello,

Dear ones,

And welcome to today's story,

A Little Princess,

Chapter 10.

But it was a perilous thing for Ermengarde and Lottie to make pilgrimages to the attic.

They could never be quite sure when Sarah would be there,

And they could scarcely ever be certain that Miss Amelia would not make a tour of inspection through the bedrooms after the pupils were supposed to be asleep.

So their visits were rare ones,

And Sarah lived a strange and lonely life.

It was a lonelier life when she was downstairs than when she was in her attic.

She had no one to talk to,

And when she was sent out on errands and walked through the streets,

A forlorn little figure carrying a basket or a parcel,

Trying to hold her hat on when the wind was blowing,

And feeling the water soak through her shoes when it was raining,

She felt as if the crowds hurrying past her made her loneliness greater.

When she had been the Princess Sarah,

Driving through the streets,

The sight of her bright,

Eager little face and picturesque coats and hats had often caused people to look after her.

A happy,

Beautifully cared-for little girl naturally attracts attention.

Shabby,

Poorly dressed children are not rare enough,

And pretty enough,

To make most people turn around to look at them and smile.

No one looked at Sarah in these days,

And no one seemed to see her as she hurried along the crowded pavements.

She had begun to grow very fast,

And,

As she was dressed only in such clothes as the plainer remnants of her wardrobe would supply,

She knew she looked very strange indeed.

All her valuable garments had been disposed of,

And such,

As had been left for her use,

She was expected to wear so long as she could put them on at all.

Sometimes,

When she passed a shop window with a mirror in it,

She almost laughed outright on catching a glimpse of herself,

And sometimes her face went red,

And she bit her lip and turned away.

In the evening,

When she passed houses whose windows were lighted up,

She used to look into the warm rooms and amuse herself by imagining things about the people she saw sitting before the fires,

Or about the tables.

It always interested her to catch glimpses of rooms before the shutters were closed.

There were several families in the square in which Miss Minchin lived,

And which she had become quite familiar,

In a way,

Of her own.

The one she liked best she called the Large Family.

She called it the Large Family not because the members of it were big,

For indeed most of them were little,

But because there were so many of them.

There were eight children in the Large Family,

And a stout,

Rosy mother,

And a stout,

Rosy father,

And a stout,

Rosy grandmother,

And any number of servants.

The eight children were always either being taken out to walk,

Or to ride,

Or they were going to drive with their mama,

Or they were flying to the door in the evening to meet their papa,

And kiss him,

And dance around him,

And drag off his overcoat,

And look in the pockets for packages,

Or they were crowding about the nursery windows,

And looking out,

And pushing each other,

And laughing.

In fact,

They were always doing something enjoyable,

And suited to the tastes of the Large Family.

Sarah was quite fond of them,

And had given them names out of books,

Quite romantic names.

One evening a very funny thing happened,

Though perhaps in one sense it was not a funny thing at all.

Several of the Montmorency's were evidently going to a children's party,

And just as Sarah was about to pass the door,

They were crossing the pavement to get into the carriage which was waiting for them.

Veronica and Rosalind,

In white lace frocks and lovely sashes,

Had just got in,

And Guy Clarence,

Aged five,

Was following them.

He was such a pretty fellow,

And had such rosy cheeks,

And blue eyes,

And such a darling little round head covered with curls,

That Sarah forgot her basket and shabby cloak altogether.

In fact,

Forgot everything but that she wanted to look at him for a moment.

So,

She paused and looked.

It was Christmas time,

And the Large Family had been hearing many stories about children who were poor,

And had no mamas and papas to fill their stockings and take them to the pantomime.

Children who were,

In fact,

Cold,

And thinly clad,

And hungry.

In the stories,

Kind people,

Sometimes little girls and boys with tender hearts,

Invariably saw the poor children and gave them money,

Or rich gifts,

Or took them home to beautiful dinners.

Guy Clarence had been affected to tears that very afternoon by the reading of such a story,

And he had burned with a desire to find such a poor child and give her a certain sixpence he possessed,

And thus provide for her life.

An entire sixpence,

He was sure,

Would mean affluence for evermore.

As he crossed the strip of red carpet laid across the pavement from the door to the carriage,

He had this very sixpence in the pocket of his very short manor wall trousers,

And just as Rosalind got into the vehicle and jumped on the seat in order to feel the cushions spring under her,

He saw Sarah standing on the wet pavement in her shabby frock and hat,

With her old basket on her arm,

Looking at him hungrily.

He thought that her eyes looked hungry because she had perhaps had nothing to eat for a long time.

He did not know that they looked hungry,

So because she was hungry for the warm merry life his home held and his rosy face spoke of,

And that she had a hungry wish to snatch him in her arms and give him a big kiss.

He only knew that she had big eyes and a thin face and thin legs and a common basket and poor clothes,

So he put his hand in his pocket and found his sixpence and walked up to her.

Here,

Poor little girl,

He said,

Here is a sixpence,

I will give it to you.

Sarah started and all at once realised that she looked exactly like poor children she had seen,

Waiting on the pavement to watch her as she got out of her pram,

And she had given them pennies many a time.

Her face went red and then it went pale,

And for a second she felt as if she could not take the dear little sixpence.

Oh no,

She said,

Oh no,

Thank you,

I mustn't take it indeed.

Her voice was so unlike an ordinary street child's voice and her manner was so like the manner of well-bred little people that Veronica and Rosalind leaned forward to listen,

But Guy Clarence was not to be thwarted in his benevolence.

He thrust the sixpence into her hand.

Yes,

You must take it,

Poor little girl,

He insisted.

You can buy things to eat with it,

It's a whole sixpence.

There was something so honest and kind in his face and he looked so likely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she did not take it that Sarah knew she must not refuse him.

To be as proud as that would be a cruel thing.

So she actually put her pride in her pocket,

Though it must be admitted,

Her cheeks burned.

Thank you,

She said,

You are a kind,

Kind little darling thing,

And as he scrambled joyfully into the carriage she went away trying to smile,

Though she caught her breath quickly and her eyes were shining through a mist.

She had known that she had looked odd and shabby,

But until now she had not known that she might be taken for a beggar.

As the large family's carriage drove away,

The children inside it were talking with interested excitement.

Old Donald,

This was Guy Clarence's real name.

Janet exclaimed alarmedly,

Why did you offer that little girl your sixpence?

I'm sure she is not a beggar.

She didn't speak like a beggar,

Cried Nora,

And her face didn't really look like a beggar's face.

Besides,

She didn't beg,

Said Janet.

I was so afraid she might be angry with you,

You know it makes people angry to be taken for beggars when they are not beggars.

She wasn't angry,

Said Donald,

A trifle dismayed but still firm.

She laughed a little and she said I was a kind,

Kind little darling thing,

And I was.

Janet and Nora exchanged glances.

A beggar girl would never have said that,

Decided Janet.

She would have said thank you kindly,

Little gentleman,

Thank you sir,

And perhaps she would have bobbed a curtsy.

Sarah knew nothing about the fact but from that time the large family was as profoundly interested in her as she was in it.

Faces used to appear at the nursery windows when she passed and many discussions concerning her were held around the fire.

She's a kind of servant at the seminary,

Janet said.

I don't believe she belongs to anybody,

I believe she's an orphan,

But she is not a beggar,

However shabby she looks.

And afterward she was called by all of them the little girl who is not a beggar,

Which was of course rather a long name and sounded very funny sometimes when the youngest one said it in a hurry.

Sarah managed to bore a hole in the sixpence and hung it on an odd bit of narrow ribbon around her neck.

Her affection for the large family increased,

As indeed her affection for everything she could love increased.

She grew fonder and fonder of Becky and she used to look forward to the two mornings a week when she went into the schoolroom to give the little ones their French lesson.

Her small pupils loved her and strolled with each other for the privilege of standing close to her and insinuating their small hands into hers.

It fed her hungry heart to feel them nestling up to her.

She made such friends with the sparrows that when she stood upon the table,

Put her head and shoulders out of the attic window and chirped,

She heard almost immediately a flutter of wings and answering twitters and a little flock of dingy town birds appeared and alighted on the slates to talk to her and make much of the crumbs she scattered.

With her rat she had become so intimate that he actually brought his missus with him sometimes and now and then one or two of his children.

She used to talk to him and somehow he looked quite as if he understood.

There had grown in her mind rather a strange feeling about Emily who always sat and looked on at everything.

It arose in one of her moments of great desolation.

She would have liked to believe or pretend to believe that Emily understood and sympathized with her.

She did not like to own to herself that her only companion could feel and hear nothing.

She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on the old red footstool and stare and pretend about until her own eyes would grow large with something which was almost like fear,

Especially at night when everything was so still,

When the only sound in the attic was the occasional sudden scurry and squeak of the rats in the wall.

One of her pretends was that Emily was a kind of good witch who could protect her.

Sometimes after she had stared at her until she was wrought up to the highest pitch of fancifulness she would ask her questions and find herself almost feeling as if she would presently answer,

But she never did.

As to answering though,

Said Sarah,

Trying to console herself,

I don't answer very often.

I never answer when I can help it.

When people are insulting you there is nothing so good for them as to not say a word,

Just to look at them and think.

Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it.

Miss Amelia looks frightened and so do the girls.

When you will not fly into a passion because you are stronger than they are,

Because you are strong enough to hold in your rage and they are not,

And they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterwards,

There's nothing so strong as rage except what makes you hold it in.

That's stronger.

It's a good thing not to answer your enemies.

I scarcely ever do.

Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself.

Perhaps she would rather not answer her friends.

She keeps it all in her heart.

But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments she did not find it easy when,

After a long hard day in which she had been sent here and there,

Sometimes on long errands through wind and cold and rain,

She came in wet and hungry and was sent out again because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child and that her slim legs might be tired or her small body might be chilled,

When she had only been given harsh words and cold slighting looks for thanks,

When the cook had been vulgar and insolent,

When Miss Minchin had been in her worst mood,

And when she had seen the girls sneering amongst themselves at her shabbiness.

Then she was not always able to comfort her sore,

Proud,

Desolate heart with fancies when Emily merely sat upright in her old chair and stared.

One of these nights when she came up to the attic,

Cold and hungry,

With a tempest raging in her young breast,

Emily's stare seemed so vacant her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive that Sarah lost all control over herself.

There was nobody but Emily.

No one in the world.

And there she sat.

I shall die presently,

She said at first.

Emily simply stared.

I can't bear this,

Said the poor child,

Trembling.

I know I shall die.

I'm cold,

I'm wet,

I'm starving to death.

I've walked a thousand miles today and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until night.

And because I could not find that last thing the cook sent me for,

They would not give me any supper.

And some men laughed at me because my old shoes made me slip down in the mud.

I'm covered with mud now.

And they laughed.

Do you hear,

Emily?

She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face and suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her.

She lifted her little savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair,

Bursting into a passion of sobbing.

Sarah,

Who never cried.

You are nothing but a doll,

She cried.

Nothing but a doll.

You care for nothing.

You are stuffed with sawdust.

You never had a heart.

Nothing could ever make you feel you're a doll.

Emily lay on the floor with her legs doubled up over her head and a new flat place on the end of her nose.

But she was calm,

Even dignified.

Sarah hid her face in her arms.

The rats in the wall began to fight and bite each other and squeak and scramble.

Sarah's sobs gradually quieted themselves.

It was so unlike her to break down that she was surprised at herself.

After a while,

She raised her face and looked at Emily,

Who seemed to be gazing at her round the side of one angle and somehow,

By this time,

Actually with a kind of glassy-eyed sympathy.

Sarah bent and picked her up.

Remorse overtook her.

She even smiled at herself,

A very small smile.

You can't help being a doll,

She said with a resigned sigh.

Any more than Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense.

We are not all made alike.

Perhaps you do your sawdust best.

And she kissed her and shook her clothes straight and put her back upon her chair.

She had wished very much that someone would take the empty house next door.

She wished it because of the attic window,

Which was so near hers.

It seemed as if it would be so nice to see it propped open someday and a head and shoulders rising out of the square aperture.

If it looked a nice head,

She thought,

I might begin by saying good morning and all sorts of things might happen.

But of course,

It's not really like that anyone but underservants would sleep in there.

One morning,

On turning the corner of the square after a visit to the grocers,

The butchers and the bakers,

She saw,

To her great delight,

That during her rather prolonged absence,

A van full of furniture had stopped before the next house.

The front doors were thrown open and men in shirt sleeves were going in and out,

Carrying heavy packages and pieces of furniture.

It's taken,

She said.

It's really taken.

Oh,

I do hope a nice head will look out at the attic window.

She would almost have liked to join the group of loiterers who had stopped on the pavement to watch the things carried in.

She had an idea that if she could see some of the furniture,

She could guess something about the people it belonged to.

Miss Minchin's tables and chairs are just like her,

She thought.

I remember thinking that the first minute I saw her,

Even though I was so little,

I told Papa afterwards,

And he laughed and said it was true.

I am sure the Lodge family have fat,

Comfortable armchairs and sofas,

And I can see that their red,

Flowery wallpaper is exactly like them.

It's warm and cheerful,

And kind-looking and happy.

She was sent out for parsley to the green grocers later in the day,

And when she came up the area steps,

Her heart gave a quick beat of recognition.

Several pieces of furniture had been set out of the van upon the pavement.

There was a beautiful table of elaborate wrought teakwood,

And some chairs,

And a screen covered with rich oriental embroidery.

The sight of them gave her a weird,

Homesick feeling.

She had seen things so like them in India.

One of the things Miss Minchin had taken from her was a carved teakwood desk her father had sent her.

They are beautiful things,

She said.

They look as if they ought to belong to a nice person.

All the things look rather grand.

I suppose it's a rich family.

The vans of furniture came and were unloaded,

And gave place to others all the day.

Several times it so happened that Sarah had an opportunity of seeing things carried in.

It became plain that she had been right in guessing that the newcomers were people of large means.

All the furniture was rich and beautiful,

And a great deal of it was oriental.

Wonderful rugs and draperies were taken from the van.

Many pictures,

And books enough for a library.

Among other things,

There was a superb god Buddha,

Splendid shrine.

Someone in the family must have been in India,

Sarah thought.

They have got used to Indian things,

And like them.

Oh,

I'm so glad.

I shall feel as if they were friends,

Even if a head never looks out of the attic window.

When she was taking in the evening's milk for the cook,

Because there really was no odd job she was not called upon to do,

She saw something occur which made the situation more interesting than ever.

The handsome rosy man,

Who was the father of the large family,

Walked across the square in the most matter-of-fact manner,

And ran up the steps of the next door house.

He ran up them as if he felt quite at home,

And expected to run up and down them many a time in the future.

He stayed inside quite a long time,

And several times came out and gave directions to the workmen,

As if he had a right to do so.

It was quite certain that he was,

In some intimate way,

Connected with the newcomers,

And was acting for them.

If the new people have children,

Sarah speculated,

The large family children will be sure to come and play with them,

And they might come up to the attic just for fun.

At night,

After her work was done,

Becky came in to see her fellow prisoner,

And bring her news.

It's an Indian gentleman that's coming to live next door,

Miss.

He's very rich,

And he's ill,

And the gentleman of the large family is his lawyer.

He's had a lot of trouble,

And it's made him ill and low in his mind.

He worships idols,

Miss.

He's uneven and bows down to wood and stone.

I've seen an idol being carried in for him to worship.

" Sarah laughed a little.

I don't believe he worships that idol,

She said.

Some people like to keep them to look at,

Because they are interesting.

My papa had a beautiful one,

And he did not worship it.

Becky and Sarah sat and talked long that night,

Of what he would be like,

Of what his wife would be like if he had one,

And of what his children would be like if they had children.

It was several weeks before her curiosity was satisfied,

And then it was revealed that the new occupant had neither wife nor children.

He was a solitary man with no family at all,

And it was evident that he was shattered in health and unhappy in mind.

A carriage drove up one day and stopped before the house,

When the footman dismounted from the box and opened the door.

The gentleman,

Who was the father of the large family,

Got out first.

After him there descended a nurse in uniform,

Then came down the steps two men-servants.

They came to assist their master,

Who,

When he was helped out of the carriage,

Proved to be a man with a haggard,

Distressed face and a skeleton body wracked in furs.

He was carried up the steps,

And the head of the large family went with him,

Looking very anxious.

Shortly afterward,

A doctor's carriage arrived,

And the doctor went in,

Plainly to take care of him.

Oh my,

He looks very,

Very ill,

Thought Sarah.

And that was the beginning of the story of the Indian Gentleman.

Reviews

A very pivotal new character! What a hard time though…
Thanks for reading!🙏🏼❤️