from there down into her attic room. It made her laugh and delighted her; but she knew he must be restored to his master—if the Lascar was his master—and she wondered how this was to be done. Would he let her catch him, or would he be naughty and refuse to be caught, and perhaps get away and run off over the roofs and be lost? That would not do at all. Perhaps he belonged to the Indian gentleman, and the poor man was fond of him.
She turned to the Lascar, feeling glad that she remembered still
her after I’ve done my pots an’ kettles? I’d do ‘em that quick—if you’d let me wait on her now she’s poor. Oh,” breaking out afresh, “poor little Miss Sara, mum—that was called a princess.”
Somehow, she made Miss Minchin feel more angry than ever. That the very scullery maid should range herself on