A Little Princess Chapter 3: A Bedtime Story

Hello dear ones,

And welcome to today's reading of A Little Princess.

Chapter Three On that first morning,

When Sarah sat at Miss Minchin's side,

Aware that the whole schoolroom was devoting itself to observing her,

She had noticed very soon one little girl.

About her own age,

Who looked at her very hard with a pair of light,

Rather dull,

Blue eyes.

She was a fat child,

Who did not look as if she were in the least bit clever,

But she had a good-natured pouting mouth.

Her flaxen hair was braided into a tight pigtail,

Tied with a ribbon,

And she had pulled this pigtail around her neck,

And was biting the end of the ribbon,

Resting her elbows on the desk,

As she stared wonderingly at the new pupil.

When Monsieur DuFarge began to speak to Sarah,

She looked a little frightened,

And when Sarah stepped forward and,

Looking at him with the innocent,

Appealing eyes,

Answered him,

Without any warning,

In French.

The fat little girl gave a startled jump,

And grew quite red in her awed amazement.

Having wept hopeless tears for weeks in her efforts to remember that La Mer meant the mother,

When one spoke sensible English,

It was almost too much for her suddenly to find herself listening to a child her own age,

Who seemed not only quite familiar with these words,

But apparently knew any number of others,

And could mix them up with verbs,

As if they were mere trifles.

She stared so hard and bit the ribbon on her pigtail so fast,

That she attracted the attention of Miss Minchin,

Who,

Feeling extremely cross at the moment,

Immediately pounced upon her.

Miss St.

John,

She exclaimed severely,

What do you mean by such conduct?

Remove your elbows,

Take your ribbon out of your mouth and sit up at once.

Upon which Miss St.

John gave another jump,

And when Lavinia and Jessie lapped,

She became redder than ever,

So red indeed,

That she almost looked as if tears were coming into her poor dull childish eyes,

And Sarah saw her,

And was so sorry for her,

That she began to rather like her,

And wanted to be her friend.

It was a way of hers always to want to spring into any fray in which someone was made uncomfortable or unhappy.

If Sarah had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago,

Her father used to say,

She would have gone about the country with her sword drawn,

Rescuing and defending everyone in distress.

She always wants to fight when she sees people in trouble.

And so she took rather a fancy to fat,

Slow,

Little Miss St.

John,

And kept glancing toward her throughout the morning.

She saw that lessons were no easy matter to her,

And that there was no danger of her ever being spoiled by being treated as a shown pupil.

Her French lesson was a pathetic thing.

Her pronunciation made even Monsieur DuFarge smile in spite of himself,

And Lavinia and Jessie,

And the more fortunate girls,

Either giggled or looked at her in wondering disdain.

But Sarah did not laugh.

She tried to look as if she did not hear when Miss St.

John called,

Le bon pain,

Le bon pain.

She had a fine,

Hot little temper of her own,

And it made her feel rather savage when she heard the titters and saw the poor,

Stupid,

Distressed child's face.

It isn't funny really,

She said between her teeth,

As she bent over her book.

They ought not to laugh at her.

When lessons were over and the pupils gathered together in groups to talk,

Sarah looked for Miss St.

John,

And finding her bundled rather disconsolately in a window seat,

She walked over to her and spoke.

She only said the kind of thing little girls always say to each other by way of beginning an acquaintance.

But there was something friendly about Sarah,

And people always felt it.

What is your name?

She said.

To explain Miss St.

John's amazement,

One must recall that a new pupil is,

For a short time,

A somewhat uncertain thing,

And of this new pupil,

The entire school had talked the night before until it fell asleep,

Quite exhausted by excitement.

A new pupil with a carriage and a pony and a maid,

And a voyage from India to discuss,

Was not an ordinary acquaintance.

My name is Ermengarde St.

John,

She answered.

Mine is Sarah Crewe,

Said Sarah.

Yours is very pretty.

It sounds like a storybook.

Do you like it?

Fluttered Ermengarde.

I like yours.

Miss St.

John's chief trouble in life was that she had a clever father.

Sometimes this seemed to her a dreadful calamity.

If you have a father who knows everything,

Who speaks seven or eight languages,

And has thousands of volumes which he has apparently learned by heart,

He frequently expects you to be familiar with the contents of your lesson books at least,

And it is not improbable that he will feel you ought to be able to remember a few incidents of history and to write a French exercise.

Ermengarde was a severe child to Mr.

St.

John.

He could not understand how a child of his could be a notably and unmistakably dull creature who never shone in anything.

Good heavens,

He had said more than once,

As he stared at her.

There are times when I think she is as stupid as her Aunt Elisa.

If her Aunt Elisa had been slow to learn,

And quick to forget a thing entirely when she had learned it,

Ermengarde was strikingly like her.

She was the monumental dunce of the school,

And it could not be denied.

She must be made to learn,

Her father said to Miss Minchin.

Consequently,

Ermengarde spent the greater part of her life in disgrace or in tears.

She learned things and forgot them,

Or,

If she remembered them,

She did not understand them.

So it was natural that,

Having made Sarah's acquaintance,

She sat and stared at her with profound admiration.

You can speak French,

Can't you?

She said respectfully.

Sarah got onto the window seat,

Which was a big,

Deep one,

And tucking up her feet,

Sat with her hands clasped around her knees.

I can speak it because I have heard it all my life,

She answered.

You could speak it if you had always heard it.

Oh no,

I couldn't,

Said Ermengarde.

I never could speak it.

Why?

Inquired Sarah curiously.

Ermengarde shook her head so that the pigtail wobbled.

You heard me just now,

She said.

I'm always like that.

I can't say the words.

They're so strange.

She paused a moment and then added,

With a touch of awe in her voice,

You are clever,

Aren't you?

Sarah looked out of the window into the dingy square,

Where the sparrows were hopping and twittering on the wet iron railings and the sooty branches of the trees.

She reflected a few moments.

She had heard it said very often that she was clever,

And she wondered if she was,

And if she was,

How it had happened.

I don't know,

She said.

I can't tell.

Then,

Seeing a mournful look on the round chubby face,

She gave a little laugh and changed the subject.

Would you like to see Emily?

She inquired.

Who is Emily?

Ermengarde asked.

Come up to my room and see,

Said Sarah,

Holding out her hand.

They jumped down from the window seat together and went upstairs.

Is it true?

Ermengarde whispered as they went through the hall.

Is it true that you have a playroom all to yourself?

Yes,

Sarah answered.

Papa asked Miss Minchin to let me have one,

Because,

Well,

It was because when I play I make up stories and I tell them to myself,

And I don't like people to hear me.

It spoils it if I think that people are listening.

They had reached passage leading to Sarah's room by this time,

And Ermengarde stopped short,

Staring,

And quite losing her breath.

You make up stories?

Can you do that,

As well as speak French?

Can you?

Sarah looked at her in simple surprise.

Why,

Anyone can make up things,

She said.

Have you never tried?

She put her hand warningly on Ermengarde's.

Let us go very quietly through the door,

She whispered,

And then I would open it quite suddenly,

And perhaps we may catch her.

She was half laughing,

But there was a touch of mysterious hope in her eyes,

Which fascinated Ermengarde,

Though she had not the remotest idea what it meant,

Or whom it was that she wanted to catch,

Or why she even wanted to catch her.

Whatsoever she meant,

Ermengarde was sure it was something delightfully exciting.

So,

Quite thrilled with expectation,

She followed her on tiptoe along the passage.

They made not the least noise until they reached the door.

Then,

Sarah suddenly turned the handle and threw it wide open.

Its opening revealed a room,

Quite neat and quiet.

A fire was burning a fire gently burning in the grate,

And a wonderful doll sitting in a chair by it,

Apparently reading a book.

Oh,

She got back to her seat before we could see her,

Sarah explained.

Of course,

They always do.

They are as quick as lightning.

Ermengarde looked from her to the doll and back again.

Can she walk?

She asked breathlessly.

Yes,

Answered Sarah.

At least I believe she can.

At least I pretend I believe she can.

And that makes it seem as if it were true.

Have you never pretended things?

No,

Said Ermengarde.

Never.

Tell me about it.

She was so bewitched by this odd new companion that she actually stared at Sarah instead of at Emily,

Notwithstanding that Emily was the most attractive doll person she had ever seen.

Let us sit down,

Said Sarah,

And I will tell you.

It's so easy that when you begin,

You can't stop.

You just go on and on,

Doing it always.

And it's beautiful.

Emily,

You must listen.

This is Ermengarde Saint John,

Emily.

Ermengarde,

This is Emily.

This is Emily.

Would you like to hold her?

Oh,

May I?

Said Ermengarde.

May I really?

She's so beautiful.

And Emily was put into her arms.

Never in her dull,

Short life had Miss Saint John dreamed of such an hour as the one she spent with the strange new pupil before they heard the lunch bell ring and were obliged to go downstairs.

Sarah sat upon the hearthrug and told her strange things.

She sat rather huddled up,

And her green eyes shone and her cheeks flushed.

She told stories of the voyage and stories of India.

But what fascinated Ermengarde the most was her fancy about the dolls who walked and talked and who could do anything they chose when the human beings were out of the room.

But who must keep their powers a secret?

And so flew back to their places like lightning when people returned to the room.

We couldn't do it,

Said Sarah seriously.

You see,

It's a kind of magic.

Once,

When she was relating the story of the search for Emily,

Ermengarde saw her face suddenly change.

A cloud seemed to pass over it and put out a light in her shining eyes.

She drew her breath in so sharply that it made a funny,

Sad little sound.

And then she shut her lips and held them tightly closed,

As if she was determined either to do or not to do something.

Ermengarde had an idea that if she had been like any other little girl,

She might have suddenly burst out sobbing and crying.

But she did not.

Do you have a pain?

Ermengarde ventured.

Yes,

Sarah answered after a moment's silence.

But it is not in my body.

Then she added something in a low voice,

Which she tried to keep quite steady.

And it was this.

Do you love your father more than anything else in all the whole world?

Ermengarde's mouth fell open a little.

She knew that it would be far from behaving like a respectable child at a select seminary to say that it had never occurred to you that you could love your father.

That you would do anything to avoid being left alone in his society for ten minutes.

She was indeed greatly embarrassed.

I scarcely ever see him,

She stammered.

He is always in the library reading things.

I love mine more than the whole world ten times over.

Sarah said,

That is what my pain is.

He has gone away.

She put her head quietly down on her little huddled up knees and sat very still for a few minutes.

She's going to cry out loud,

Thought Ermengarde fearfully.

But she did not.

Her short black locks tumbled about her ears and she sat still.

Then she spoke without lifting her head.

I promised him that I would bear it,

She said.

And I will.

You have to bear things.

Think what soldiers bear.

Papa is a soldier.

If there was a war,

He would have to bear marching and thirstiness and perhaps deep wounds.

And he would never say a word.

Not one word.

Ermengarde could only gaze at her.

But she felt that she was beginning to adore her.

She was so wonderful and so different from anyone else.

Presently,

She lifted her face and shut back her black locks with a strange little smile.

If I go on talking and talking,

She said,

And telling you things about pretending,

I shall bear it better.

You don't forget,

But you can bear it better.

Ermengarde did not know why a lump came into her throat and her eyes felt as if tears were in them.

Lavinia and Jessie are best friends,

She said.

I wish we could be best friends.

Would you have me for yours?

You are clever and I'm the stupid child in the school.

But I do so like you.

I'm glad of that,

Said Sarah.

It makes you thankful when you are liked.

Yes,

We will be friends.

And I'll tell you what,

A sudden gleam lighting her face.

I can help you with your French lessons.