the plates,” she said. “They are golden plates. These are the richly embroidered napkins. Nuns worked them in convents in Spain.”
“Did they, miss?” breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by the information.
“You must pretend it,” said Sara. “If you pretend it enough, you will see them.”
“Yes, miss,” said Becky; and as Sara returned to the trunk she devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to be desired.
Sara turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking very
me and comes out when I call him. Are you too frightened to want to see him?”
The truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the aid of scraps brought up from the kitchen, her curious friendship had developed, she had gradually forgotten that the timid creature she was becoming familiar with