“Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you had come into a fortune. It is an impertinence. And remember you are to have no food today.”
“Yes, Miss Minchin,” Sara answered; but as she turned away her heart leaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. “If the Magic had not saved me just in time,” she thought, “how horrible it would have been!”
“She can’t be very hungry,” whispered Lavinia. “Just look at her. Perhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast”—with a spiteful laugh.
“She’s different from other people,” said Jessie, watching Sara with her class. “Sometimes I’m a bit frightened of her.”
“Ridiculous thing!” ejaculated Lavinia.
All through the day the light was in Sara’s face, and the color in her cheek. The servants cast puzzled glances at her, and whispered to each other, and Miss Amelia’s small blue eyes wore an expression of bewilderment. What such an audacious look of well-being, under august displeasure, could mean she could not understand. It was, however, just like Sara’s singular obstinate way. She was probably determined to brave the matter out.
One thing Sara had resolved upon, as she thought things over. The wonders which had happened must be kept a secret, if such a thing were possible. If Miss Minchin should choose to mount to the attic again, of course all would be discovered. But it did not seem likely that she would do so for some time at least, unless she was led by suspicion. Ermengarde and Lottie would be watched with such strictness that they would not dare to steal out of their beds again. Ermengarde could be told the story and trusted to keep it secret. If Lottie made any discoveries, she could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the Magic itself would help to hide its own marvels.
“But whatever happens,” Sara kept saying to herself all day—“whatever happens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenly kind person who is my friend—my friend. If I never know who it is—if I never can even thank him—I shall never feel quite so lonely. Oh, the Magic was good to me!”
If it was possible for weather to be worse than it had been the day before, it was worse this day—wetter, muddier, colder. There were more errands to be done, the cook was more irritable, and, knowing that Sara was in disgrace, she was more savage. But what does anything matter when one’s Magic has just proved itself one’s friend. Sara’s supper of the night before had given her strength, she knew that she should sleep well and warmly, and, even though she had naturally begun to be hungry again before evening, she felt that she could bear it until breakfast-time on the following day, when her meals would surely be given to her again. It was quite late when she was at last allowed to go upstairs. She had been told to go into the schoolroom and study until ten o’clock, and she had become interested in her work, and remained over her books later.
When she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before the attic door, it must be confessed that her heart beat rather fast.
“Of course it might all have been taken away,” she whispered, trying to be brave. “It might only have been lent to me for just that one awful night. But it was lent to me—I had it. It was real.”
She pushed the door open and went in. Once inside, she gasped slightly, shut the door, and stood with her back against it, looking from side to side.
The Magic had been there again. It actually had, and it had done even more than before. The fire was blazing, in lovely leaping flames, more merrily than ever. A number of new things had been brought into the attic which so altered the look of it that if she had not been past doubting, she would have rubbed her eyes. Upon the low table another supper stood—this time with cups and plates for Becky as well as herself; a piece of bright, heavy, strange embroidery covered the battered mantel, and on it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look quite pretty. Some odd materials of rich colors had been fastened against the wall with fine, sharp tacks—so sharp that they could be pressed into the wood and plaster without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were several large cushions, big and substantial enough to use as seats. A wooden box was covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite the air of a sofa.
Sara slowly moved away from the door and simply sat down and looked and looked again.
“It is exactly like something fairy come true,” she said. “There isn’t the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything—diamonds or bags of gold—and they would appear! That wouldn’t be any stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? And to think I used to pretend and pretend and wish there were fairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am living in a fairy story. I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and able to turn things into anything else.”
She rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in the next cell, and the prisoner came.
When she entered she almost dropped in a heap upon the floor. For a few seconds she quite lost her breath.
“Oh, laws!” she gasped, “Oh, laws, miss!” just as she had done in the scullery.
“You see,” said Sara.
On this night Becky sat on a cushion upon the hearthrug and had a cup and saucer of her own.
When Sara went to bed she found that she had a
