During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing was the place she was to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were sent away from it generally to England and to school. She had seen other children go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk about the letters they received from them. She had known that she would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her fathers stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled by the thought that he could
not stay with her.
Couldnt you go to that place with me, papa? she had asked when she was five years old. Couldnt you go to school, too? I would help you with your lessons.
But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara, he had always said. You will go to a nice house where there will be a lot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will send you plenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take care of papa.
She had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her father; to ride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he had dinner-parties; to talk to him and read his books that would be what she would like most in the world, and if one must go away to the place in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she could console herself. She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had liked them as much as she did.
Well, papa, she said softly, if we are here I suppose we must be resigned.
He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. He was really not at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a secret. His quaint little Sara had been a great companion to him, and he felt he should be a lonely fellow when, on his return to India, he went into his bungalow knowing he need not expect to see the small figure in its white frock come forward to meet him. So he held her very closely in his arm as the cab rolled into the big, dull square in which stood the house which was their destination.
It was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others in its row, but that on the front door there shone a brass plate on which was engraved in black letters:
As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Sara cast one of her quick looks about her.
I dont like it, papa, she said. But then I dare say soldiers even brave ones dont really like going into battle.
Captain Crewe laughed outright at this. He was young and full of fun, and he never tired of hearing Saras queer speeches.
Oh, little Sara, he said. What shall I do when I have no one to say solemn things to me? No one else is quite as solemn as you are.
But why do solemn things make you laugh so? inquired Sara.
Because you are such fun when you say them, he answered, laughing still more. And then suddenly he swept her into his arms and kissed her very hard, stopping laughing all at once and looking almost as if tears had come into his eyes.
It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room. She was very like her house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and ugly. She had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy smile. It spread itself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe. She had heard a great many desirable things of the young soldier from the lady who had recommended her school to him. Among other things, she had heard that he was a rich father who was willing to spend a great deal of money on his little daughter.
It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful and promising child, Captain Crewe, she said, taking Saras hand and stroking it. Lady Meredith has told me of her unusual cleverness. A clever child is a great treasure in an establishment like mine.
Sara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchins face. She was thinking something odd, as usual.
Why does she say I am a beautiful child, she was thinking. I am not beautiful at all. Colonel Granges little girl, Isobel, is beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long hair the color of gold. I have short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am a thin child and not fair in the
least. I am one of the ugliest children I ever saw. She is beginning by telling a story.
She was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly child. She was not in the least like Isobel Grange, who had been the beauty of the regiment, but she had an odd charm of her own. She was a slim, supple creature, rather tall for her age, and had an intense, attractive little face. Her hair was heavy and quite black and only curled at the tips; her eyes were greenish gray, it is true, but they were big, wonderful eyes with long, black lashes, and though she herself did not like the color of them, many other people did. Still she was very firm in her belief that she was an ugly little girl, and she was not at all elated by Miss Minchins flattery.