That girl has been listening," she said.
The culprit snatched up her brush, and scrambled to her feet. She caught at the coal box and simply scuttled out of the room like a frightened rabbit.
Sara felt rather hot-tempered.
"I knew she was listening," she said. "Why shouldn't she?"
Lavinia tossed her head with great elegance.
"Well," she remarked, "I do not know whether your mamma would like you to tell stories to servant girls, but I know manna wouldn't like to do it."
"My mamma!" said Sara, looking odd. "I don't believe she would mind in the least. She knows that stories belong to everybody."
"I thought," retorted Lavinia, in severe recollection, "that your mamma was dead. How can she know things?"
"Do you think she know things?" said Sara, in her stern little voice. Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice.
"Sara's mamma knows everything," piped in Lottie. "So does my mamma--'cept Sara is my mamma at Miss Minchin's--my other one knows everything. The streets are shining, and there are fields and fields of lilies, and everybody gathers them. Sara tells me when she puts me to bed."
"You wicked thing," said Lavinia, turning on Sara; "making fairy stories about heaven."
"There are much more splendid stories in Revelation," returned Sara. "Just look and see! How do you know mine are fairy stories? But I can tell you"--with a fine bit of unheavenly temper--"you will never find out whether they are or not if you're not kinder to people than you are now. Come along, Lottie.
The culprit snatched up her brush, and scrambled to her feet. She caught at the coal box and simply scuttled out of the room like a frightened rabbit.
Sara felt rather hot-tempered.
"I knew she was listening," she said. "Why shouldn't she?"
Lavinia tossed her head with great elegance.
"Well," she remarked, "I do not know whether your mamma would like you to tell stories to servant girls, but I know manna wouldn't like to do it."
"My mamma!" said Sara, looking odd. "I don't believe she would mind in the least. She knows that stories belong to everybody."
"I thought," retorted Lavinia, in severe recollection, "that your mamma was dead. How can she know things?"
"Do you think she know things?" said Sara, in her stern little voice. Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice.
"Sara's mamma knows everything," piped in Lottie. "So does my mamma--'cept Sara is my mamma at Miss Minchin's--my other one knows everything. The streets are shining, and there are fields and fields of lilies, and everybody gathers them. Sara tells me when she puts me to bed."
"You wicked thing," said Lavinia, turning on Sara; "making fairy stories about heaven."
"There are much more splendid stories in Revelation," returned Sara. "Just look and see! How do you know mine are fairy stories? But I can tell you"--with a fine bit of unheavenly temper--"you will never find out whether they are or not if you're not kinder to people than you are now. Come along, Lottie.
( Frances Hodgson Burnett )
[ A Little Princess ]
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