A Little Princess
OUGHT to say them. THANK you--THANK you--THANK you!
THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.
The next morning she left this on the little table, and in the evening
it had been taken away with the other things; so she knew the Magician
had received it, and she was happier for the thought. She was reading
one of her new books to Becky just before they went to their respective
beds, when her attention was attracted by a sound at the skylight.
When she looked up from her page she saw that Becky had heard the sound
also, as she had turned her head to look and was listening rather
nervously.
"Something's there, miss," she whispered.
"Yes," said Sara, slowly. "It sounds--rather like a cat--trying to get
in."
She left her chair and went to the skylight. It was a queer little
sound she heard--like a soft scratching. She suddenly remembered
something and laughed. She remembered a quaint little intruder who had
made his way into the attic once before. She had seen him that very
afternoon, sitting disconsolately on a table before a window in the
Indian gentleman's house.
"Suppose," she whispered in pleased excitement--"just suppose it was
the monkey who got away again. Oh, I wish it was!"
She climbed on a chair, very cautiously raised the skylight, and peeped
out. It had been snowing all day, and on the snow, quite near her,
crouched a tiny, shivering figure, whose small black face wrinkled
itself piteously at sight of her.
"It is the monkey," she cried out. "He has crept out of the Lascar's
attic, and he saw the light."
Becky ran to her side.
"Are you going to let him in, miss?" she said.
"Yes," Sara answered joyfully. "It's too cold for monkeys to be out.
They're delicate. I'll coax him in."
She put a hand out delicately, speaking in a coaxing voice--as she
spoke to the sparrows and to Melchisedec--as if she were some friendly
little animal herself.
"Come along, monkey darling," she said. "I won't hurt you."
He knew she would not hurt him. He knew it before she laid her soft,
caressing little paw on him and drew him towards her. He had felt human
love in the slim brown hands of Ram Dass, and he felt it in hers. He
let her lift him through the skylight, and when he found himself in her
arms he cuddled up to her breast and looked up into her face.
"Nice monkey! Nice monkey!" she crooned, kissing his funny head. "Oh,
I do love little animal things."
He was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she sat down and
held him on her knee he looked from her to Becky with mingled interest
and appreciation.
"He IS plain-looking, miss, ain't he?" said Becky.
"He looks like a very ugly baby," laughed Sara. "I beg your pardon,
monkey; but I'm glad you are not a baby. Your mother COULDN'T be proud
of you, and no one would dare to say you looked like any of your
relations. Oh, I do like you!"
She leaned back in her chair and reflected.
"Perhaps he's sorry he's so ugly," she said, "and it's always on his
mind. I wonder if he HAS a mind. Monkey, my love, have you a mind?"
But the monkey only put up a tiny paw and scratched his head.
"What shall you do with him?" Becky asked.
"I shall let him sleep with me tonight, and then take him back to the
Indian gentleman tomorrow. I am sorry to take you back, monkey; but
you must go. You ought to be fondest of your own family; and I'm not a
REAL relation."
And when she went to bed she made him a nest at her feet, and he curled
up and slept there as if he were a baby and much pleased with his
quarters.
17
"It Is the Child!"
The next afternoon three members of the Large Family sat in the Indian
gentleman's library, doing their best to cheer him up. They had been
allowed to come in to perform this office because he had specially
invited them. He had been living in a state of suspense for some time,
and today he was waiting for a certain event very anxiously. This
event was the return of Mr. Carmichael from Moscow. His stay there had
been prolonged from week to week. On his first arrival there, he had
not been able satisfactorily to trace the family he had gone in search
of. When he felt at last sure that he had found them and had gone to
their house, he had been told that they were absent on a journey. His
efforts to reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided to remain
in Moscow until their return. Mr. Carrisford sat in his reclining
chair, and Janet sat on the floor beside him. He was very fond of
Janet. Nora had found a footstool, and Donald was astride the tiger's
head which ornamented the rug made of the animal's skin. It must be
owned that he was riding it rather violently.
"Don't chirrup so loud, Donald," Janet said. "When you come to cheer
an ill person up you don't cheer him up at the top of your voice.
Perhaps cheering up is too loud, Mr. Carrisford?" turning to the Indian
gentleman.
But he only patted her shoulder.
"No, it isn't," he answered. "And it keeps me from thinking too much."
"I'm going to be quiet," Donald shouted. "We'll all be as quiet as
mice."
"Mice don't make a noise like that," said Janet.
Donald made a bridle of his handkerchief and bounced up and down on the
tiger's head.
"A whole lot of mice might," he said cheerfully. "A thousand mice
might."
"I don't believe fifty thousand mice would," said Janet, severely; "and
we have to be as quiet as one mouse."
Mr. Carrisford laughed and patted her shoulder again.
"Papa won't be very long now," she said. "May we talk about the lost
little girl?"
"I don't think I could talk much about anything else just now," the
Indian gentleman answered, knitting his forehead with a tired look.
"We like her so much," said Nora. "We call her the little un-fairy
princess."
"Why?" the Indian gentleman inquired, because the fancies of the Large
Family always made him forget things a little.
It was Janet who answered.
"It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will be so rich
when she is found that she will be like a princess in a fairy tale. We
called her the fairy princess at first, but it didn't quite suit."
"Is it true," said Nora, "that her papa gave all his money to a friend
to put in a mine that had diamonds in it, and then the friend thought
he had lost it all and ran away because he felt as if he was a robber?"
"But he wasn't really, you know," put in Janet, hastily.
The Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly.
"No, he wasn't really," he said.
"I am sorry for the friend," Janet said; "I can't help it. He didn't
mean to do it, and it would break his heart. I am sure it would break
his heart."
"You are an understanding little woman, Janet," the Indian gentleman
said, and he held her hand close.
"Did you tell Mr. Carrisford," Donald shouted again, "about the
little-girl-who-isn't-a-beggar? Did you tell him she has new nice
clothes? P'r'aps she's been found by somebody when she was lost."
"There's a cab!" exclaimed Janet. "It's stopping before the door. It
is papa!"
They all ran to the windows to look out.
"Yes, it's papa," Donald proclaimed. "But there is no little girl."
All three of them incontinently fled from the room and tumbled into the
hall. It was in this way they always welcomed their father. They were
to be heard jumping up and down, clapping their hands, and being caught
up and kissed.
Mr. Carrisford made an effort to rise and sank back again.
"It is no use," he said. "What a wreck I am!"
Mr. Carmichael's voice approached the door.
"No, children," he was saying; "you may come in after I have talked to
Mr. Carrisford. Go and play with Ram Dass."
Then the door opened and he came in. He looked rosier than ever, and
brought an atmosphere of freshness and health with him; but his eyes
were disappointed and anxious as they met the invalid's look of eager
question even as they grasped each other's hands.
"What news?" Mr. Carrisford asked. "The child the Russian people
adopted?"
"She is not the child we are looking for," was Mr. Carmichael's answer.
"She is much younger than Captain Crewe's little girl. Her name is
Emily Carew. I have seen and talked to her. The Russians were able to
give me every detail."
How wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman looked! His hand
dropped from Mr. Carmichael's.
"Then the search has to be begun over again," he said. "That is all.
Please sit down."
Mr. Carmichael took a seat. Somehow, he had gradually grown fond of
this unhappy man. He was himself so well and happy, and so surrounded
by cheerfulness and love, that desolation and broken health seemed
pitifully unbearable things. If there had been the sound of just one
gay little high-pitched voice in the house, it would have been so much
less forlorn. And that a man should be compelled to carry about in his
breast the thought that he had seemed to wrong and desert a child was
not a thing one could face.
"Come, come," he said in his cheery voice; "we'll find her yet."
"We must begin at once. No time must be lost," Mr. Carrisford fretted.
"Have you any new suggestion to make--any whatsoever?"
Mr. Carmichael felt rather restless, and he rose and began to pace the
room with a thoughtful, though uncertain face.
"Well, perhaps," he said. "I don't know what it may be worth. The
fact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing over in the
train on the journey from Dover."
"What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere."
"Yes; she is SOMEWHERE. We have searched the schools in Paris. Let us
give up Paris and begin in London. That was my idea--to search London."
"There are schools enough in London," said Mr. Carrisford. Then he
slightly started, roused by a recollection. "By the way, there is one
next door."
"Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer than next door."
"No," said Carrisford. "There is a child there who interests me; but
she is not a pupil. And she is a little dark, forlorn creature, as
unlike poor Crewe as a child could be."
Perhaps the Magic was at work again at that very moment--the beautiful
Magic. It really seemed as if it might be so. What was it that brought
Ram Dass into the room--even as his master spoke--salaaming
respectfully, but with a scarcely concealed touch of excitement in his
dark, flashing eyes?
"Sahib," he said, "the child herself has come--the child the sahib felt
pity for. She brings back the monkey who had again run away to her
attic under the roof. I have asked that she remain. It was my thought
that it would please the sahib to see and speak with her."
"Who is she?" inquired Mr. Carmichael.
"God knows," Mr. Carrrisford answered. "She is the child I spoke of. A
little drudge at the school." He waved his hand to Ram Dass, and
addressed him. "Yes, I should like to see her. Go and bring her in."
Then he turned to Mr. Carmichael. "While you have been away," he
explained, "I have been desperate. The days were so dark and long. Ram
Dass told me of this child's miseries, and together we invented a
romantic plan to help her. I suppose it was a childish thing to do;
but it gave me something to plan and think of. Without the help of an
agile, soft-footed Oriental like Ram Dass, however, it could not have
been done."
Then Sara came into the room. She carried the monkey in her arms, and
he evidently did not intend to part from her, if it could be helped.
He was clinging to her and chattering, and the interesting excitement
of finding herself in the Indian gentleman's room had brought a flush
to Sara's cheeks.
"Your monkey ran away again," she said, in her pretty voice. "He came
to my garret window last night, and I took him in because it was so
cold. I would have brought him back if it had not been so late. I knew