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—an’ me bein’ so tired. It—it WASN’T impertience!”
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
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, she would have learned nothing. Privately Miss Minchin disliked her, but she was far too