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 mamma knows everything,” piped in Lottie. “So does my mamma—‘cept Sara is my mamma at Miss 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
she can. And that makes it seem as if it were true. Have you never pretended things?”
“No,” said Ermengarde. “Never. I—tell me about it.”
She was so bewitched by this odd, new companion that she actually stared at Sara instead of at Emily—notwithstanding that Emily was the most attractive doll person