Sara Crewe.txt

                      SARA CREWE



                          OR



            WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S







                          BY



                FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT











In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. 



Her home was a large, dull, tall one, in a large,



dull square, where all the houses were alike,



and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the



door-knockers made the same heavy sound, and



on still days--and nearly all the days were still--



seemed to resound through the entire row in which



the knock was knocked.  On Miss Minchin's door there



was a brass plate.  On the brass plate there was



inscribed in black letters,







MISS MINCHIN'S



SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES







Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house



without reading that door-plate and reflecting upon it. 



By the time she was twelve, she had decided that



all her trouble arose because, in the first place,



she was not "Select," and in the second she was not



a "Young Lady."  When she was eight years old,



she had been brought to Miss Minchin as a pupil,



and left with her.  Her papa had brought her all



the way from India.  Her mamma had died when she



was a baby, and her papa had kept her with him as



long as he could.  And then, finding the hot climate



was making her very delicate, he had brought her to



England and left her with Miss Minchin, to be part



of the Select Seminary for Young Ladies.  Sara, who



had always been a sharp little child, who remembered



things, recollected hearing him say that he had



not a relative in the world whom he knew of, and



so he was obliged to place her at a boarding-school,



and he had heard Miss Minchin's establishment



spoken of very highly.  The same day, he took Sara



out and bought her a great many beautiful clothes--



clothes so grand and rich that only a very young



and inexperienced man would have bought them for



a mite of a child who was to be brought up in a



boarding-school.  But the fact was that he was a rash,



innocent young man, and very sad at the thought of



parting with his little girl, who was all he had left



to remind him of her beautiful mother, whom he had



dearly loved.  And he wished her to have everything



the most fortunate little girl could have; and so,



when the polite saleswomen in the shops said,



"Here is our very latest thing in hats, the plumes



are exactly the same as those we sold to Lady



Diana Sinclair yesterday," he immediately bought



what was offered to him, and paid whatever was asked. 



The consequence was that Sara had a most



extraordinary wardrobe.  Her dresses were silk



and velvet and India cashmere, her hats and



bonnets were covered with bows and plumes, her



small undergarments were adorned with real lace,



and she returned in the cab to Miss Minchin's



with a doll almost as large as herself, dressed



quite as grandly as herself, too.







Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money



and went away, and for several days Sara would



neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, nor her



dinner, nor her tea, and would do nothing but



crouch in a small corner by the window and cry. 



She cried so much, indeed, that she made herself ill. 



She was a queer little child, with old-fashioned



ways and strong feelings, and she had adored



her papa, and could not be made to think that



India and an interesting bungalow were not



better for her than London and Miss Minchin's



Select Seminary.  The instant she had entered



the house, she had begun promptly to hate Miss



Minchin, and to think little of Miss Amelia



Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, and lisped,



and was evidently afraid of her older sister. 



Miss Minchin was tall, and had large, cold, fishy



eyes, and large, cold hands, which seemed fishy,



too, because they were damp and made chills run



down Sara's back when they touched her, as



Miss Minchin pushed her hair off her forehead



and said:







"A most beautiful and promising little girl,



Captain Crewe.  She will be a favorite pupil;



quite a favorite pupil, I see."







For the first year she was a favorite pupil;



at least she was indulged a great deal more than



was good for her.  And when the Select Seminary



went walking, two by two, she was always decked



out in her grandest clothes, and led by the hand



at the head of the genteel procession, by Miss



Minchin herself.  And when the parents of any



of the pupils came, she was always dressed and



called into the parlor with her doll; and she used



to hear Miss Minchin say that her father was a



distinguished Indian officer, and she would be



heiress to a great fortune.  That her father had



inherited a great deal of money, Sara had heard



before; and also that some day it would be



hers, and that he would not remain long in



the army, but would come to live in London. 



And every time a letter came, she hoped it would



say he was coming, and they were to live together again.







But about the middle of the third year a letter



came bringing very different news.  Because he



was not a business man himself, her papa had



given his affairs into the hands of a friend



he trusted.  The friend had deceived and robbed him. 



All the money was gone, no one knew exactly where,



and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young



officer, that, being attacked by jungle fever



shortly afterward, he had no strength to rally,



and so died, leaving Sara, with no one to take care



of her.







Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never



looked so cold and fishy as they did when Sara



went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days



after the letter was received.







No one had said anything to the child about



mourning, so, in her old-fashioned way, she had



decided to find a black dress for herself, and had



picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and



came into the room in it, looking the queerest little



figure in the world, and a sad little figure too. 



The dress was too short and too tight, her face



was white, her eyes had dark rings around them,



and her doll, wrapped in a piece of old black



crape, was held under her arm.  She was not a



pretty child.  She was thin, and had a weird,



interesting little face, short black hair, and very



large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with



heavy black lashes.







I am the ugliest child in the school," she had



said once, after staring at herself in the glass for



some minutes.







But there had been a clever, good-natured little



French teacher who had said to the music-master:







"Zat leetle Crewe.  Vat a child!  A so ogly beauty! 



Ze so large eyes! ze so little spirituelle face. 



Waid till she grow up.  You shall see!"







This morning, however, in the tight, small



black frock, she looked thinner and odder than



ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin



with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced



into the parlor, clutching her doll.







"Put your doll down!" said Miss Minchin.







"No," said the child, I won't put her down;



I want her with me.  She is all I have.  She has



stayed with me all the time since my papa died."







She had never been an obedient child.  She had



had her own way ever since she was born, and there



was about her an air of silent determination under



which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. 



And that lady felt even now that perhaps it would be



as well not to insist on her point.  So she looked



at her as severely as possible.







"You will have no time for dolls in future,"



she said; "you will have to work and improve



yourself, and make yourself useful."







Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher



and said nothing.







"Everything will be very different now," Miss



Minchin went on.  "I sent for you to talk to



you and make you understand.  Your father



is dead.  You have no friends.  You have



no money.  You have no home and no one to take



care of you."







The little pale olive face twitched nervously,



but the green-gray eyes did not move from Miss



Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing.







"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss



Minchin sharply.  "Are you so stupid you don't



understand what I mean?  I tell you that you are



quite alone in the world, and have no one to do



anything for you, unless I choose to keep you here."







The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. 



To be suddenly deprived of a large sum of money



yearly and a show pupil, and to find herself



with a little beggar on her hands, was more than



she could bear with any degree of calmness.







"Now listen to me," she went on, "and remember



what I say.  If you work hard and prepare to make



yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you



stay here.  You are only a child, but you are a



sharp child, and you pick up things almost



without being taught.  You speak French very well,



and in a year or so you can begin to help with the



younger pupils.  By the time you are fifteen you



ought to be able to do that much at least."







"I can speak French better than you, now," said



Sara; "I always spoke it with my papa in India." 



Which was not at all polite, but was painfully true;



becau...