heard her proud little voice, she quite felt as if her might was being set at naught.
“Don’t put on grand airs,” she said. “The time for that sort of thing is past. You are not a princess any longer. Your carriage and your pony will be sent away—your maid will be dismissed. You will wear your oldest and plainest clothes—your extravagant ones are no longer suited to your station. You are like Becky—you must work for your living.”
To her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the child’s eyes—a
“I knowed I hadn’t orter, but it was that beautiful I—I couldn’t help it.”
“I liked you to listen to it,” said Sara. “If you tell stories, you like nothing so much as to tell them to people who want to listen. I don’t know why it is. Would you like to hear the rest?”
Becky lost her breath again.
“Me