room, carrying a coal box much too heavy for her, and knelt down upon the hearth rug to replenish the fire 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 Sara saw in two minutes that she
I think people listen.”
They had reached the passage leading to Sara’s room by this time, and Ermengarde stopped short, staring, and quite losing her breath.
“You MAKE up stories!” she gasped. “Can you do that—as well as speak French? CAN you?”
Sara looked at her in simple surprise.
“Why, anyone