such a darling little round head covered with curls, that Sara forgot her basket and shabby cloak altogether—in fact, forgot everything but that she wanted to look at him for a moment. So she paused and looked.
It was Christmas time, and the Large Family had been hearing many stories about children who were poor and had no mammas and papas to fill their stockings and take them to the pantomime— children who were, in fact, cold and thinly clad and hungry. In the stories, kind people—sometimes little
stopped arranging the Last Doll’s ostrich plumes, and looked thoughtful.
“I BELIEVE I could,” she said. “If one was a beggar, one would have to suppose and pretend all the time. But it mightn’t be easy.”
She often thought afterward how strange it was that just as she had finished saying this—just