did it several times, looking entirely absorbed in it. Ermengarde thought she looked as if she were working a spell. And at last, evidently in response to it, a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed head peeped out of the hole. Sara had some crumbs in her hand. She dropped them, and Melchisedec came quietly forth and ate them. A piece of larger size than the rest he took and carried in the most businesslike manner back to his home.
“You see,” said Sara, “that is for his wife and children. He is very nice.
ladies,” the speech began—for it was a speech—“that dear Sara is eleven years old today.”
“DEAR Sara!” murmured Lavinia.
“Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but Sara’s birthdays are rather different from other little girls’ birthdays. When she is older she will be heiress to a large