fascinated. He looked at her with his bright eyes, as if he were asking a question. He was evidently so doubtful that one of the child’s queer thoughts came into her mind.
“I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat,” she mused. “Nobody likes you. People jump and run away and scream out, `Oh, a horrid rat!’ I shouldn’t like people to scream and jump and say, `Oh, a horrid Sara!’ the moment they saw me. And set traps for me, and pretend they were dinner. It’s so different to be a sparrow. But nobody
and, after an interview in her private sitting room, had expressed her wishes.
“This is not an ordinary occasion,” she said. “I do not desire that it should be treated as one.”
So Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when, on her entry, the big girls stared at her and touched each other’s elbows,