tell me. What is the matter? Why don’t you like me any more?”
Something in her voice made the familiar lump rise in Sara’s throat. It was so affectionate and simple—so like the old Ermengarde who had asked her to be “best friends.” It sounded as if she had not meant what she had seemed to mean during these past weeks.
“I do like you,” Sara answered. “I thought—you see, everything is different now. I thought you—were different.
Ermengarde opened her wet eyes wide.
“Why, it was you who were different!”
of a satisfying nature were either produced and eaten or hastily tucked into pockets to be disposed of at night, when Becky went upstairs to her attic to bed.
“But I has to eat ‘em careful, miss,” she said once; “‘cos if I leaves crumbs the rats come out to get ‘em.”
“Rats!” exclaimed Sara, in horror.