I havent any ma ma ma-a! she announced; but her voice was not so strong.
Sara looked at her still more steadily, but with a sort of understanding in her eyes.
Neither have I, she said.
This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Lottie actually dropped her legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and stared. A new idea will stop a crying child when nothing else will. Also it was true that while Lottie disliked Miss Minchin, who was cross, and Miss Amelia, who was foolishly indulgent, she rather liked Sara, little as she knew her. She did not want to give up her grievance, but her thoughts were distracted from it, so she wriggled again, and, after a sulky sob, said:
Where is she?
Sara paused a moment. Because she had been told that her mamma was in heaven, she had thought a great deal about the matter, and her thoughts had not been quite like those of other people.
She went to heaven, she said. But I am sure she comes out sometimes to see me though I dont see her. So does yours. Perhaps they can both see us now. Perhaps they are both in this room.
Lottie sat bolt upright, and looked about her. She was a pretty, little, curly-headed creature,
and her round eyes were like wet forget-me-nots. If her mamma had seen her during the last half-hour, she might not have thought her the kind of child who ought to be related to an angel.
Sara went on talking. Perhaps some people might think that what she said was rather like a fairy story, but it was all so real to her own imagination that Lottie began to listen in spite of herself. She had been told that her mamma had wings and a crown, and she had been shown pictures of ladies in beautiful white night-gowns, who were said to be angels. But Sara seemed to be telling a real story about a lovely country where real people were.
There are fields and fields of flowers, she said, forgetting herself, as usual, when she began, and talking rather as if she were in a dream fields and fields of lilies and when the soft wind blows over them it wafts the scent of them into the air and everybody always breathes it, because the soft wind is always blowing. And little children run about in the lily-fields and gather armsful of them, and laugh and make little wreaths. And the streets are shining. And no one is ever tired, however far they walk. They can float anywhere they like. And there are walls made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they are low enough for the people to go and lean on them, and look down on to the earth and smile, and send beautiful messages.
Whatsoever story she had begun to tell, Lottie would, no doubt, have stopped crying, and been fascinated into listening; but there was no denying that this story was prettier than most others. She dragged herself close to Sara, and drank in every word until the end came far too soon. When it did come, she was so sorry that she put up her lip ominously.
I want to go there, she cried. I havent any mamma in this school.
Sara saw the danger-signal, and came out of her dream. She took hold of the chubby hand and pulled her close to her side with a coaxing little laugh.
I will be your mamma, she said. We will play that you are my little girl. And Emily shall be your sister.
Lotties dimples all began to show themselves.
Shall she? she said.
Yes, answered Sara, jumping to her feet. Let us go and tell her. And then I will wash your face and brush your hair.
To which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out of the room and up-stairs with her, without seeming even to remember that the whole of the last hours tragedy had been caused by the fact that she had refused to be washed and brushed for lunch and Miss Minchin had been called in to use her majestic authority.
And from that time Sara was an adopted mother.
CHAPTER V BECKY
Any one who has been at school with a teller of stories knows what the wonder means how he or she is followed about and besought in a whisper to relate romances; how groups gather round and hang on the outskirts of the favored party in the hope of being allowed to join it and listen. Sara not only could tell stories, but she adored telling them. When she sat or stood in the midst of a circle and began to invent wonderful things, her green eyes grew big and shining, her cheeks flushed, and, without knowing that she was doing it, she began to act and made what she told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping of her voice, the bend and sway of her slim body, and the dramatic movement of her hands. She forgot that she was talking to listening children; she saw and lived with the fairy folk, or the kings and queens and beautiful ladies, whose adventures she was narrating. Sometimes when she had finished her story, she was quite out of breath with excitement, and would lay her hand on her thin, little, quick-rising chest, and half laugh as if at herself.
When I am telling it, she would say, it doesnt seem as if it was only made up. It seems more real than you are more real than the school-room. I feel as if I were all the people in the story one after the other. It is queer.